Amygdala
by The Idiot Alchemist
Summary: Sequel to The Scarecrow Letters. FORMERLY SCARECROW KIN but changed due to...well the title wasn't very good. Jonathan Crane and his family reunite for the first time in nearly ten years. Things do not go well.
1. Chapter 1

I was able to pull this off! Not sure when the next installment will be, though

All right, sequel time! They're never as good as the first but…

Recap: Scarecrow's half-sister from his Year One comic starts writing to him when she's seven Hilarity ensues. She's eleven and going to Gotham to meet him.

If you're wondering why Karen would ever get within 200 miles of Gotham knowing you-know-who lives there, it will be explained in due time. Enjoy! Love you all!

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, settings, etc. That's why I'm writing fanfiction.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>:

Almost There

Gotham City was not an ideal tourist destination for a variety of reasons. The smog was horrible, the museums were underfunded despite the efforts of the Wayne Foundation, and there were a wide assortment of disturbed individuals in silly costumes who enjoyed blowing up the occasional hospital. The latter really took a chunk out of the tourism industry. Most sane people would consider winning a vacation to Gotham on par with receiving a free case of syphilis. Karen Keeny was not one of those people.

"Isn't this exciting?" Karen nudged her eleven-year-old daughter out of sleep. The girl groaned and turned in her seat towards the airplane window and away from her mother. Karen pouted.

"Come on, sweetie. We're an hour from Gotham! You should be more excited. You're the little Shakespeare who won us this!"

The girl yawned and rubbed the crust from her eyes. Looking through the window she tried to see if she could glimpse the city. No luck. Hester-Mae Keeny had won nothing, truth be told, unless one counted having an infamous supervillain for a half-brother as winning anything. Said supervillain was the one who had arranged everything. She had been writing to him ever since she was seven and was convinced that he was the only one who truly knew her or loved her. She would do anything he said. He had done everything for her. She had committed three acts of severe property damage, stalked a girl, had one of her mother's ex-boyfriends thrown in prison where he was later pecked to death by crows (although to be fair, he had tried to molest her and she was damn well going to keep it _tried_), had been responsible for the nonfatal immolation of another (he had hit her; her mother had terrible judgment with men), and had poisoned at least 27 other individuals all under the doting tutelage of Jonathan Crane. Or, as the people of Gotham knew him, the Scarecrow.

She had never met him face to face. They had corresponded for years through letters and God knew she watched him on the news whenever possible. Still, more than anything, she just wanted to _see_ him. Her mother still thought that she didn't even know he was her brother. Hester-Mae giggled a little at that.

"What's so funny, Baby-Mae?"

Damn. She heard that, "Nothing. And stop calling me that!"

Karen laughed and ruffled her daughter's hair, "Aw, but you _are_ my Baby-Mae!"

Hester-Mae swatted her mother's hand away, "I'm _not_ a baby! I know about sex and stuff."

"Stuff," of course referred to her knowledge of how to perpetrate felonies without being suspected, but her mother didn't need to know that. Karen merely hummed in amusement and continued flipping through her copy of SkyMall. Hester-Mae tried looking for Gotham City through the window again. She could vaguely make out a gray blur on the horizon.

_Is that it? Is Jonathan in there? _Her heart began to beat faster in excitement. She could feel the edges of her mouth creep slowly up her cheeks in a grin.

_I'm almost there! Almost…_

* * *

><p>Jonathan Crane was not the most sociable of Gotham's Rogues Gallery. Even amongst "his kind" he was an outcast. This suited him perfectly. He had never cared for much company. His chess matches with Tetch and the occasional intellectual conversation with any one of his more cerebral fellow inmates were the most he socialized. Even so, some of the denizens of Arkham could tell that their local phobophile was in a less melancholy mood than usual. Ironically, this made him all the creepier. Harleen Quinzel, the notorious Harley Quinn, had certainly noticed. Somewhere deep under the clown makeup and dumb-blonde personality was a former psychiatrist who noticed when people were acting out of the norm and her curiosity as a scientist demanded she see what was going on. Besides, the Joker was still in solitary and she was bored.<p>

Crane was eating his lunch alone, as usual, and she decided to give him some company, "Hiya Doctor Crane!"

He glanced up at her briefly before returning to his meal, "I assume you have something to ask, child."

It was not a question. He had guessed her plan, "Ah, shucks. You know me too well, Jonny."

"It's Jonathan or Doctor Crane, child. If you're going to speak with me you should take a seat. The guards are staring," he said, gesturing towards the seat across from himself. Harley let out a small squeak of glee before taking her seat.

"So…" she began, twirling her thumbs. Crane raised his brows, "Child, I _highly_ suggest that you stop wasting my time and tell me what it is you want."

"Alright, alright, ya big grump," she placed her hands on the table and leaned towards him. Pointing her finger at him she said, "Spill. You've been less doom-and-gloom lately. You got somethin' big planned, doncha?"

He sighed and took another bite of chicken breast that was likely mostly made from plastic, "Something like that."

Harley squealed loudly, happy that she was right. Crane covered his ears, "You nearly burst my eardrums, you idiot!"

Harley blushed, "Sorry, Doctor. So what's the plan? I promise I won't tell no one! Please please please!"

Crane rolled his eyes, "Forgive me if I do not believe that for a moment."

"Honest! Unless it's got to do with bringing down Batsy for good, I don't tell Puddin' other guys' plans!"

"That doesn't leave many plans untold then, does it?"

Harley pouted, "Well, you know how Puddin' gets when other people try an' swipe his chance at gettin' the Bat. That's what you're doing, ain't it?"

"As a matter of fact, it's not."

"Ooh! Then why doncha tell me? I can help, if you want! Promise! If it don't get in Puddin's way I'm totally cool with whatever!"

Crane sighed and tentatively poked a suspicious green blob with his fork before deciding not to risk consuming it, "You really are not going to let this go, are you?"

Harley shook her head, pig-tails bouncing. Crane briefly contemplated slamming her head into the table and letting the resulting concussion keep her from prying, but that would make his bribing of a guard so much more difficult.

"Fine. But keep in mind, child: if you breathe a word to anyone I have not gotten help from and you ruin my plan, I will use you as a guinea pig for my toxins for the rest of your shrieking days. Do you understand?"

Harley flinched briefly before slowly nodding. Crane reached into his left sleeve and pulled out a small photo, "Wondrously ugly, isn't she?"

Harley took it gingerly. The photo was of a girl somewhere between nine and twelve. It was hard to tell. She was too tall and thin, her sticklike arms and legs jutting out gawkily. Her bent, freckled nose was too large for her face and her lower lip was practically nonexistent. Short dull hair that did not have quite enough red in it for auburn stuck out at awkward angles around her face. Her outfit appeared to have been vomited up by a diseased rainbow; bright, clashing colors trying unsuccessfully to make the depressing looking creature appear semi-cheerful. Harley clucked sympathetically, "Yeesh. This poor thing ain't never winning Miss America," she raised a suspicious eyebrow at Crane, "You decided to join Jervis and be a perv, Doctor?"

Crane sniffed in disgust and took the photo back, "Don't be repulsive. Jervis is hardly a pedophile and you know it. Besides, the child is my half-sister."

"Half-sister? Gimme that!" Harley reached across the table and reclaimed the photo, "Well, whaddaya know? She _does_ kinda look like you. I mean, if you were missing your bottom lip and had freckles and were colorblind, damn—"

Reaching forward and again taking back his photo, Crane said, "That's quite enough from you, Miss Quinzel."

"Ooh, 'Miss Quinzel' now. I really touched a nerve. Sorry, Doctor. She's _kinda_ cute. You know, like pugs are cute. Ugly-cute," Harley's voice trailed off for a moment and she gave a small nervous laugh, "So, what's your plan? She's not like your secret back-up clone or something, is she? She seems way too young to be your sister. Secret love-baby, maybe," she giggled at her rhyme.

Crane scoffed, "She's hardly my daughter, despite the twenty-three year age difference. My brain-dead mother wound up having me when she was sixteen and I was raised by my monster of a great-grandmother because my worthless father couldn't bother to stay for half a second. Mother dearest married some abusive dullard years later and thus was Hester-Mae."

It was Harley's turn to scoff, "What kinda old-timey name is Hester-Mae? That a Georgia thing?"

"That was the name of my other great-grandmother. The one who died before she got to torture me."

"With that face and that name, the kid's gotta be all kinds of screwed up," Harley stretched her arms over her head before looking at the clock, "Ooh, time's running short. Watcha want with the kid, anyhow? You ain't gonna hurt her or nothing to get back at your mom, are ya?"

"Oh, no. Believe it or not, under that plain, depressing façade lies the potential makings of one of us."

Harley's face screwed up in confusion, "Really."

Crane nodded, "She started writing me almost oh, four years ago now. I wrote her at first out of boredom. I soon discovered sweet little Hester-Mae had a slight vicious streak. It is difficult in a small town for the daughter of the local tramp, it seems, and she wanted to strike back at all those who harmed her and mocked her. Any of the other wretches from Arlen would have told her that getting back at them would make her just as bad, but I saw her potential and I wanted to make it flourish, not suppress it. She's quite the stealthy little thing and even in the beginning had relatively little qualms about getting her revenge no matter what it took. Any qualms she did have I was easily able to pacify. She has never been caught. In four years I turned a shy doormat into my apprentice in fear," he smirked, "I have to say I'm impressed with myself."

"No kidding," she looked at the photo on the table, "So you're, what, going to train her to be mini-Scarecrow?"

"More or less. She's performed beyond my expectations. I actually wanted her to fail at first. I thought I could scare off a potential annoyance by suggesting that she try to ruin her enemy's home with a species of beetle not known for much large-scale damage. I did not think that a seven-year-old would even attempt it or if she did that she would fail, but she succeeded. Everything I have told her to do she has done. I cannot tell you how many people she has poisoned at such a young age. I have created something entirely loyal to me that will never betray me. I've made something that loves me more than anything else in the world and who will obey me utterly."

Harley hummed softly, "And I suppose after your failures with Becky what's-her-face and Linda something-or-other you want to make sure this one doesn't get away from you."

Crane growled, "I miscalculated. I should have checked Friitawa more thoroughly. I should have known that a law student like Albright with her past behind her wouldn't turn with a conversation."

"And you think you can do better with Suzie Sunshine?"

Crane smiled, "I know I will succeed. I've practically raised her. I am her brother by blood, I have raised her as a father, and I will give birth to her true self. She is mine utterly. She is practically one of us already, with all that I have coached her to do. She just needs to move up to a larger scale. I will teach her that. She will never betray me. Her worst fear is losing me. I have made that her fear. All this I have done with letters. Can you imagine what I will be able to do with her once I have my hands on her?"

Harley frowned, "You sure this is good for the kid? You're scaring me, Doc."

"That's precisely the idea. She is mine; I will decide what is best for her. Did you not hear when I said what a doormat she was before? One of our mother's ex-boyfriends was a child molester. Can you imagine what could have happened if I had not brought her out of her shell and taught her to never let anyone look down on her? It would have been years before our imbecile of a mother found out. I plan to make her great. She has the potential to be similar to me. I do not mean just by blood relation. The others of my family were such small things. My great-grandmother's world revolved around making my childhood-self miserable, my grandmother was a thoughtless socialite, my mother clings desperately to any man who claims to love her. Insignificant creatures. My sister is the only one like myself. I have made myself into the God of Fear. I can make her into a goddess. Phobos and Adrestia…"

The clock buzzed for one o'clock. Lunch was over. Harley and Crane both got up from their seats to get ready to leave. Harley was disturbed by some of the things Crane had said but kept her mouth shut. _It's _his_ sister. He can do what he wants with her. She seems to be fine with it._ The uneasy feeling in her stomach stayed until she saw the Joker being led through the halls by a small army of guards. He winked at her and she nearly forgot all about the Scarecrow and his awkward sister.

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><p>So, what do you think? These chapters might take a while to show up. I've got a lot of stuff coming up and I'm trying to get in as much for my mini-not-quite-alternate universe as possible. 'Til next time!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the continued support, y'all! Aw, you don't like Harley? Meh, that's the most she'll do with this story anyway.

Disclaimer: DC owns rights to everybody. Even YOU.

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><p>Chapter 2:<p>

Motherly Talk

"This place is amazing!" Karen Keeny was amazed as she walked around Suite 2104 of the Old Gotham Hotel. Her daughter was also impressed. While 2104 was hardly the most grandiose room at the Old Gotham, it was still the most luxurious place Hester-Mae had ever been in. She had her own mini-room, there was a large screen television with more channels than she could ever flip through, and there was an excellent view of downtown. To an eleven-year-old who had grown up mostly in poverty in one of the most miserable small towns in America, it was amazing.

_I can't believe it_, she thought, _How did he get something like this for me for a week?_

She stretched out on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Her soft, fluffy, bed with no springs that dug awkwardly into her back and a non-cracked ceiling with no hint of water damage. If only once, she wished her mother would date a guy who could do a little handiwork. At least her current toy Jimmy could fix a sink. He used scotch tape, but hey, it worked.

The sheets were crisp and clean and smelled faintly like lilac. Oh, yeah. She could get used to this. She removed her hair clip and planted her face firmly in the softest pillow she had ever felt. Seriously, how did Jonathan do this? She had heard that Arkham was ridiculously easy to break out of despite the money being poured into the place, but how could he have gotten boarding passes and a room like this? He was awesome; that was all there was to it.

Karen softly knocked on the door and whispered softly, "Sweetie?"

"Hmm?" Hester-Mae mumbled without removing herself from the pillow.

"Do you…do you think I'm a bad mom?"

Hester-Mae lifted her head from the pillow, "What?"

Karen crossed the room to sit beside her daughter, "You heard. Do you think I'm a bad mom?"

The girl blinked in confusion. What was her mom talking about?

"Why're you asking?"

Her mother began to play with her hair, as she always did when she was nervous, "It's just that…I just want to know. I mean, I know the kids at school get on to you about…my reputation…"

"Mom, they do a little more than 'get on to' me."

Karen winced, "I know. And I'm sorry. I just…what do you think of Jimmy?"

"Huh?"

"Is he OK? I mean, after…"

Hester-Mae held up her hand, "Stop. Jimmy's…fine. He's dumb, but he stays out of my way."

Karen nodded, "OK. Look, I'm sorry for…all that you've gone through because of me. It's just that…I had a really bad time as a kid, too. It wasn't bad the same way yours is, but…My mother and my grandmother were…very strict. When I didn't do what they said…I got punished. Bad. And I've been trying to be the opposite of them ever since I got away from them both. I just…I don't want you to wind up like me. I've tried to raise you the opposite way from how I was raised. I mean, I don't want you to be so starved for affection that you'd…do stupid things with the first person to ever treat you like a human being, you know?"

No. Hester-Mae did not know, but she nodded anyway.

Karen seemed relieved, "OK, thank you. I love you, munchkin."

Hester-Mae sighed, but said, "Love you too…"

"Alright," Karen stared at her hands for a minute, obviously working herself up to say something else.

"I…need to do something while we're here. I'm just going to get this over with while you're settling in. I mean, we were probably going to stay in the room all evening anyway and I might as well do this now so it doesn't cut into our time hanging out in the big city, OK?"

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing too important. I just need to meet with someone. It should only take an hour or two. You're a big girl and this is a really nice hotel so you should be fine, right?"

"You don't want me to come with you?"

"Oh, no. It's gonna be kind of boring and I want you to have as much fun as possible on this trip so you just stay here and watch TV. They have movie channels, can you believe it?"

Great, first night in Gotham and she didn't get to go out. It was not as if she had come to Gotham to look around, but still. At least the room _was _pretty cool. And movie channels. Movie channels were good. Hester-Mae sighed, "Fine. Try not to get mugged."

Karen smiled, "Thanks for understanding, honey. Gotta go. Be right back, Baby-Mae!"

The door closed behind Karen just as her daughter indignantly yelled, "Don't call me that!"

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><p>Very few inmates at Arkham received visitors. Arkham was where you locked up people to forget about them and let them rot, not where you sent them to recover and hopefully come back. The more <em>infamous<em> inmates certainly never saw anyone outside of their doctors and one another. Most family they had were dead, usually by their hands, their various hench-people were usually locked up as well on lower-security levels, and barely any had friends outside of each other ("friend" meaning "someone you might feel a twinge of sorrow for after killing, but a nice chocolate bar would make everything better"). Someone like Jonathan Crane, who even by Arkham standards was a recluse, certainly did not get any visitors.

And yet, there he was, a miniature army of guards leading him towards the rarely used visitor center. It was the girl. It _had_ to be. Stupid creature, had he not instructed her to wait until his associates came to pick her up? Why had she chosen _now_ of all times to disobey him? Now when they could be found out? Stupid. He should have known better than to trust a preteen girl. Even if she did have an aptitude for terror and crime, it did not mean that she had any common sense in her little tween mind.

He was sat in front of a bullet-proof glass screen with a corded telephone provided for communication. Perfect. Now all of the various curses he had chosen to put his sister back in her place would be static-ed out of existence.

"Right this way, Miss Keeny."

A thin middle-aged woman with curly dark hair sat across from him. She was not his little sister. The woman gave a small semi-wave, as if unsure what to do. He was stunned.

_What is _she _doing here?_

Karen Keeny—_his mother!_—gingerly picked up the phone on her end and held it to her ear. Jonathan stared at her for a tense moment before lifting up his own phone to use.

"H-hello, Jonathan," her voice was soft and he could barely make it out.

"Karen," he replied tersely.

She sighed, "Look, I know you're probably surprised to see me and all and you probably hate me too, but I had to see you while I was here."

Right on both accounts. Perhaps his mother had something between her ears after all. Likely dandelion fluff. He coughed, "And what _are_ you doing here, pray tell."

She hesitated for a moment, deciding on what to say. Finally, she said, "Hest—my daughter won a writing contest and the prize was a week-long trip to Gotham. I honestly wasn't gonna let her go, but she's had such a rough time at school with other kids and she's so smart I mean she won that contest and she deserves to have some fun for once. I can't do nothing for her at school. None of the other parents would listen t-to someone like _me_ about their kids being awful and I'd just make everything worse," she paused for a moment, "But the big thing was…I needed to talk to _you_. About everything."

Jonathan snorted, "Really? And what could you possibly say to me after you abandoned me?"

"I didn't!" Her voice grew from a whisper to a yell and he had to pull the phone from his ear, "I didn't want to give you up! I was planning on waiting until after you were born and then running away! When I had you, Granny took you away and I thought…"

Her voiced choked up, "I thought she'd killed you. I tried going after her but I couldn't barely move after having a baby and Mama told Granny to bury you alive and I thought she did," her face darkened, "I wouldn't put it past her to kill a baby. Every time I did something bad she would always put me in an old Sunday dress and take me to the aviary behind her house and…the birds would…"

She placed one of her hands on her forehead, "Oh God, she had you your whole life, didn't she?"

Jonathan's face remained an emotionless mask, "How astute of you, Karen."

Her head jerked up, "Did she—with the birds—oh God, did she?"

His voice remained light, as if discussing the weather, "Oh, often enough."

Karen's eyes widened with horror, "That…that woman…oh, God…"

"Is that all you came to talk to me about, Karen? I have books that I could be reading."

Karen flinched, "I…I'm sorry. I just…I thought you should know. That's all. Gerald was the only person to ever treat me halfway decent after my grandmother—the good one—passed and I… I just had to make sure you knew. I owed you at least that. I mean, I didn't think you'd love me or, hell, even like me after I told you but…yeah."

She took a deep breath and let it out. She had said what she meant to and began to pull the phone from her ear.

"Just a second."

Karen looked startled for a moment, "Y-yes?"

"How is Hester-Mae? Your daughter."

"Oh! She…she's a smart kid. Good. She's gone through some rough times at school, but she's pulled through. She's gonna make something of herself."

_That she is_, Crane thought quietly to himself. He shrugged, "Hm. Just curious. Goodbye, Karen. This will likely be our last meeting."

Karen hung her head, "I-I suppose," she gave a small laugh, "You know, if I'd been able to run away with you, I was gonna name you Henry."

"Perhaps it is best that you didn't," After all, miserable though his childhood was, it was because of it that he had been able to achieve godhood, "_Goodbye_, Karen."

"…bye…"

Jonathan hung up his phone and his guards resumed their places at his sides to lead him back to his cell. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his mother still sitting in her chair as an official walked towards her, presumably to get her to get up and get lost.

That had gone easier than expected. Regardless of whether or not his mother's absence had been purposeful or not, it did not excuse her of idiocy. Still, when he did get around to killing her, it would be more of an act of mercy than one of revenge. Such a pathetic creature needed to be put out of its misery. Besides, she stood between him and little Hester-Mae. Speaking of which, he really had to get to bribing that guard.

It was almost show time.

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><p>This chapter was horrible. It was awesome in my head, I swear! Meh. I can't get it better than this. Hope y'all enjoy it, anyhow!<p>

You know, I noticed something. Every one of the Kenny/Crane family in this fic has some sort of latching-on issues with people. Karen latches on to any guy who can pronounce "I love you," Hester-Mae latches on to the first person who seems to understand her even though he's a convicted psycho, and Jonny latches on to anyone with a history of bullying and a small want for revenge. Must be genetic. Judging by great-granny's sadism and grandma's cold-blooded suggestion of burying baby Jonny, I'd say the whole family's got problems.

And I don't care how nice a hotel it is; nowhere in Gotham's safe, Karen. You're just lucky big bad Scarecrow would gas anyone who interfered with his sister other than him.


	3. Chapter 3

SEMESTER FINALLY OVER 60 PAGES OF ESSAYS FOR FINALS KILL ME NAO.

Ahem, I will finally be able to work on this a bit more now. Yay. I still have my job and I'm looking to get another, but that won't cut into as much of my time as *shudder* _the essaaaaaaays…*HISS*_

Disclaimer: DC owns everything. Technically even Hester-Mae as she was the wee little unnamed baby in Scarecrow: Year One. Although if they would be so kind as to hand over the old universe now that they've ditched it (WHY), I wouldn't refuse it!

Warning: Hester-Mae's fashion sense is briefly described below. She's not colorblind, but she might as well be. Seriously, Aquaman's colors, girl. Damn.

Chapter 3:

Hello Dolly

By the time Karen had quietly slipped back into the hotel room, her daughter was already fast asleep. The television in her room was still on, showing one of those old science fiction horror films from the sixties that for some inexplicable reason little Hester-Mae loved to death. She crept over to the silly girl to gently pry the remote from her limp fingers and turn the television off. Tugging off Hester-Mae's shoes, she noticed with some amusement how much larger they were compared to her own. Her Baby-Mae was always so tall for her age. At age eleven, she already towered over most of the kids her age at 5'9''.

_He_ was tall too. 6'3'', that's what the papers said. They must have gotten it from Gra—_her_ side. _She_ had always been so tall. Had always towered over her and made her feel so tiny and insignificant. Karen had always seen her shadow creeping up on her before she saw _her_. Always telling her how horrid she was, what a wicked little girl she was, Eve's Sin leaking through every pore _how on earth did something like you come from my bloodline!_

No. Karen should not think like that. _She_ was gone. _He_ had killed her along with _that bastard_. All of that was over.

She gently slid her daughter under the cool and crisp sheets before stroking a few loose strands of hair from her face. _She looks like him_. She had figured Hester-Mae would look a little more different, given the separate fathers. They were still hardly clones; her eyes were more bright teal than ice blue, her hair was a little lighter and straight as opposed to curly, her face was rounder, likely baby fat, but Karen could still see so much of _him_ that it hurt.

She rested her hand lightly on her daughter's forehead. _At least no one will steal _you_ away from me._

* * *

><p>"I'm getting a coke from the vending thing in the hall!"<p>

It was 10:30 in the morning and Hester-Mae really shouldn't be drinking soda so early, but it was vacation and Karen knew the girl would just get one anyway even if she was told no, "Don't drink it all at once."

It was advice that would doubtlessly not be followed, but she had to at least make an effort.

"Mm-hmm," the preteen exited the hotel room with one of the keycards, knowing her mother would take forever to get out of bed. Jonathan didn't come last night. Not that she was expecting him to on her first night in Gotham, but she had hoped. She was jittery. Soda would no doubt make it worse, but she didn't care. She wanted one.

She wondered how he was going to show up. Was he just going to knock on the door? Probably not. Was he going to send a henchman to kidnap her? That would attract too much attention from the cops and scare her mom.

Or maybe he just would not show up at all and get a good laugh out of tricking a dumb little girl into coming all the way to Gotham from Arlen.

_No,_ Hester-Mae shook her head forcefully, _Jonathan wouldn't do that. Everyone else would, but he's _different_. He's nice. Jonathan wouldn't never hurt me. He wouldn't never. Besides, plane tickets are real expensive and stuff. He wouldn't waste all that money on me to just trick me, right? Right._

Comforted, she continued down the hallway towards the machine next to the elevators.

There was another girl by the vending machine. She was about a foot shorter than Hester-Mae, with perfectly curled blonde hair held back in a careful ponytail. She was dressed nicely in a blue silk blouse and black slacks. They looked more like the style of clothes older aunts and grandparents wore than what a child would wear, but perhaps that was just how kids in Gotham dressed. Hester-Mae looked down at her faded orange shirt and slightly scuffed neon-green capris and suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. She always did her best to pick the coolest looking things in the thrift shops and yard sales and other places her mother could afford when she was in between hopefully bread-winning boyfriends. She wondered if people around could tell she was from _that_ part of Georgia that the sane 99% of the state tried its best ignore. Lord, people in Gotham would be able to _smell_ it on her, wouldn't they? She was brought out of her slight panic by the blonde girl huffing in frustration at the machine, "Seriously, is everything I want out of stock?"

Her voice was unusually deep for a girl her size. The girl gave a defeated groan before pressing the coin return. As she turned around to presumably head back to her room, the girl accidentally nudged Hester-Mae, "Hey, watch it!"

The blonde girl looked up to Hester-Mae's face presumably to start an argument, "Why don't you—!"

The girl's voice cut off as looked up and saw Hester-Mae's face. Hester-Mae was used to reactions to her height, why else would the blonde girl look at her that way, but she was _way_ over-doing it. The blonde girl looked around as if checking to see if anyone was around. She turned her face back to Hester-Mae and said, "Hey, is your name Hester-Mae Keeny?"

Hester-Mae blinked in confusion. Should she answer? She didn't know this girl and she doubted Jonathan would hire a little kid like her to meet her. But who knew? How else would the girl know her name? Nervously, she replied, "Um, yeah. Why?"

The blonde girl held out her hand, presumably for Hester-Mae to shake, "Mary Dahl. I take it you've seen my show. No? Ugh, before _your _time, anyway," she stared at Hester-Mae oddly, "Huh. You know, you _kind_ of look like him. Not _that_ much, thank God. One of him's bad enough."

Hester-Mae was beyond confused for a brief moment, "You…are you the person who's taking me to Jonathan?"  
>"Jonny Crane, Mr. Big Bad Scarecrow? If only to keep him from gassing me into oblivion. And keep your voice down, will you? Other people can hear us and if anyone else finds out what's going on, it's <em>my<em> head," Mary said.

"I'm sorry, but I kinda thought you'd be older." Hester-Mae still highly doubted that Jonathan would hire someone younger than her to bring her to him. Was this a sick joke?

Mary snorted, "I happen to be forty-six years old."

The taller girl's eyes narrowed, "Yeah, right! You'd have to be, like, Mom's age. How'd that happen?"

Mary glared back, "Long story, you snot-nosed little brat. Bad genetics plus illegal hormone pills from my oh-so-loving parents. Got me the starring role on a TV sitcom and killed the rest of my career," she sighed, "Not to mention it's what got me blackmailed by Creepy into being your contact. A little brat like you hanging out with a cute little girl like me isn't suspicious. Even the flying rat wouldn't give us a second glance."

"So, you're not kidding?" Hester-Mae asked.

Mary groaned, "Why the hell would I kid about working for your psychotic sociopath of a brother? -_I can't believe that spooky bastard has family- _I really wish I was, but I'm not. And I would very much like to _not_ be lobotomized by him, so listen up already."

Hester-Mae's face broke out into a huge smile and she giggled excitedly, slightly bouncing on the balls of her feet and clapping her hands, "So, you're really gonna take me to him? He really wants to see me?"

Mary quickly grabbed Hester-Mae's shoulders and whipped her head around to see if anyone was listening, "Calm down, for Christ's sake!" she whispered harshly, "This is why I hate working with kids! There are other people in this hotel, you know. Yes. For reasons I don't know and _really_ don't _want_ to know, Scarecrow wants to see you. I never really pegged him for the sentimental family type, but I bet I'm happier not knowing what goes on inside that head."

"Oh, he's really wonderful! I've been writing to him ever since I was seven. He's helped me deal with people who are mean to me and he's been teaching me how to be a supervillain like him! He's the best big brother ever and he's the only person who really knows me or loves me."

Mary stared at her for a long while. Finally, she said, "Are you _sure_ your Scarecrow and the Scarecrow I and everyone else in Gotham know and loathes are the same person?"

Hester-Mae nodded fervently, "Totally! I told you, he wants me to be his partner to scare people and that's why I'm meeting him!"

"Huh. What, does he want to preserve his legacy or something?"

"Ooh, like he wants me to be the next Scarecrow or something? I bet he does! That is so cool!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure it is to you," Mary looked around again before leaning in and lowering her voice even further, "Look, are you sure this is a good idea, kid?"

Hester-Mae blinked, "Huh? What do you mean?"

Mary looked worried, "Well, you know, meeting with the freaking _Scarecrow_ of all people. He's one of the, how do I say this, he's one of the more _infamous_ crazies in the city. He's earned it, too. Even without his fear toxin, he can dig into your head and rip your brain apart. I've seen him do it. He enjoys watching people scream. _Enjoys_ it. Kid sister or not, are you _sure_ meeting him is the safest thing? I can always say you caught the flu or something and couldn't come. Seriously, kid."

"Hmph. I'll be _fine_. He loves me. He's my big brother. He wants me to be like him and he's taught me how. _I_ like watching people scream, too. I've done lots of stuff already. He says I'm like him and he'll make me a goddess and we're gonna take over Gotham together," Hester-Mae replied, annoyed. _Doesn't this person think I know my own brother?_ She sniffed and crossed her arms, pouting slightly. _Nobody ever thinks I'm smart or capable enough to make my own decisions. It's _stupid_. I'm _eleven_. I just finished my first year in _middle school_. I had _the Talk_ with Mom. I'm practically an adult already! And what _is_ this blonde chick trying to say about Jonathan, anyway? She doesn't know him! Not like _I _do. She doesn't know that Jonathan was the only one to ever believe me when I said other people were being mean. He was the only one who ever really cared. He always made me feel better when other people were horrible. He taught me how to make them all go away. He's the best person ever. Who does this chick think she is to judge him? _

Mary shuddered, "OK. None of my business anyway. It's _your_ funeral."

_Damn straight it's none of your business,_ Hester-Mae thought.

The blonde girl—_woman,_ really—turned to walk away to her room, "I'll drop by at around seven. Tell your mother you made a friend and you're going to go to a movie with her and her parents. That ought to buy us a few hours."

With that, Mary continued down the hall and turned a corner, out of Hester-Mae's sight.

Hester-Mae was stunned. Wow. She was really going to meet him, wasn't she? After years of writing, she was finally going to meet her big brother. She squeaked a little from excitement before taking a few deep breaths to calm herself. This was amazing. She was going to meet him and then they were going to team up and take over Gotham and—

"Baby-Mae?"

She jumped and shrieked in surprise as she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard her mother's voice, "Mom!"

"Sorry, Baby-Mae. Did I scare you?"

Hester-Mae took a few deep breaths, "No. You just made me jump a little. Why'd you sneak up on me?"

Karen shrugged, "Wasn't trying to, Baby-Mae. You were taking a bit too long getting a coke and I came to make sure you were OK."

"I'm fine. I just met a girl here and we talked for a bit."

Karen's face lit up, "You made a friend? That's wonderful. Ever since you and Madison had that fight after that little monster hurt her, I've been so worried about you getting lonely. And here you made a friend already! I knew it. I knew you could make friends anywhere other than Arlen. Everyone else can see what a good girl you are. I'm telling you, as soon as I save up enough money from cleaning up after the Sudworths we're selling the trash-heap we live in now and moving somewhere else. Not here because…well there are other places. Somewhere no one knows us and where no one'll what I do in my spare time and everyone'll treat us better. Jimmy'll be left behind, but I don't think we're gonna be together by the time that happens, anyway. What do you think, sweetie?"

_I think me and Jonathan will be ruling Gotham by then_. "Sounds cool, Mom."

"Doesn't it? Come on, hon. First day in the big city! What do you want to do first? Go see all three of those big bridges, I think they call 'em the Gates, walk around in the park, ooh! I know! We'll take a ride on the elevator to the top of Wayne Tower and look at the city from up there! That'll give us an idea of where to go next!"

Karen took her daughter's hand in hers and they headed for the elevators. As Karen pressed the button for the two of them to descend Hester-Mae suddenly remembered, _Damn, I forgot the soda!_

* * *

><p>The guard had been easy to bribe. Boyce had always been one of the more corrupt men in Arkham. Five thousand dollars and a sincere threat to use him as a lab rat until his mind broke if he did not comply and Boyce had "accidentally" left a janitor's uniform near the showers. Private showers were one of the more coveted perks for good behavior in Arkham, mostly because they were excellent opportunities for escape. And yet the powers that be continued to award them to people like him. It was amazing that anyone still wondered how inmates could escape so easily.<p>

Hunching over to hide his height and his face had allowed Jonathanto slip out unnoticed and it had been almost childishly simple to hotwire one of the staff's cars. As he began to drive out, he noticed that no alarms had even began to ring. He tried in vain to hold in a laugh. Honestly, with all of the money from the taxpayers and Wayne being funneled into the place, it should at least be a _little_ difficult to break out. Nygma probably found Rubix Cubes more difficult than breaking out of Arkham.

_Enough gloating,_ he thought, _focus back on the plan._

His mother's appearance had given him a good shock, but he doubted that she would be much of an obstacle. She had been so _docile _and _spineless_. Granny and Grandmother must have done quite a number on her during her childhood. Seeing as her mother had been such a nonentity, it was hardly a surprise his sister had only needed a small push to commit any criminal act he put into her head.

It would only be the best for everyone involved if he killed his mother. He would be free from all ties to his wretched childhood, his sister would be free to be raised by him, and Karen herself needed to be put out of her misery. Happy endings for all.

He parked his stolen transportation in an abandoned alleyway about a forty minutes' walk from his destination and proceeded to make the rest of his journey on foot. There would be no use in being stupid and parking in front of his actual hideout and being caught so easily. Even the most dimwitted cop in Gotham, and there were some amazingly braindead cops in Gotham, could check license plates for stolen vehicles. Besides, it was refreshing to get a good walk after being cooped up in a small room for so long.

He wondered how difficult it would be to transform the girl into a decent partner. _Given my success through letter writing, one-on-one sessions should be even more productive, _he thought, _She's a remarkably obedient little thing once I've managed to get into her head._

An abandoned warehouse was rather cliché as far as hideouts went, but there were so many of them in Gotham and it took so long for the Bat or the police to search all of the potential ones that he could be hiding in. They also provided plenty of storage space for supplies and equipment. Clichéd or not, it was convenient. He had hidden equipment in several of them so that he would never be absent a hiding place. This one near the docks was both the closest and the most heavily stocked. Enough canned food for a month, a miniature arsenal for the inevitable Bat attack sure to follow, and of course a wide variety of psychoactive chemicals to play with.

He gently pried open a small floorboard to reveal a tiny keypad. _W-F-C-3-1-9-4-1_ _Enter_. There was a small *click* as several floorboards raised an inch, allowing him to pull them completely up so that he could descend the staircase below. He pulled the hidden door completely down once more after he was low enough. He was most likely not being followed, but one could never be too careful when within 100 miles of the Bat and his ever increasing brood.

He walked over to a long table that was at the end of the room. A vast array of chemicals and compounds had been lined up before him along with various instruments with which to work them. Excellent. He ran his fingers gently over neatly printed labels: _Bufotenine, Lysergic Acid Amide, Mescaline, Psylocybin, Psilocin, Dimethyltryptamine, _and so many more. Usually the compounds were used in order to achieve a cheap high and escape reality, but he would use them to induce mind-numbing fear and make his subjects face the ultimate reality that was terror. Enlightenment in a syringe.

He wondered vaguely how his sister would react to some of the new formulas that he had devised whilst imprisoned. She had not reacted well at all to the weakened strain that he had given her earlier, but that was only to be expected. She was still only a child, her puerile attempts to seem more adult notwithstanding, and he himself had taken years to fully appreciate fear in all its glory. It was no matter. He would simply teach her to embrace fear as a proper disciple should. He had successfully molded her for years merely through writing. Being able to have actual contact with her would make his job all the easier.

He deserved a dedicated followerer. He deserved one more than his..._colleagues_ ever did. They were shallow, empty things. He was a god walking the earth. The Clown had Miss Quinn, Nygma had those two biker women, even van Cleer had his spoiled brat of a daughter. They had people who would follow them into hell. What had he, the Lord of Fear, received? The traitorous Miss Friitawa and that Albright girl that had been one of his greater failures. Why? Why had he been betrayed and rejected when he deserved adoration more than any of them? Why had he not accumlated a mass of people who worshipped him as he should be worshipped? So many undeserving

There was no use in musing over his failures. He had the girl. He had shaped her ever since she was small. Metamorphosed her from an average grub like the majority of humanity into someone who rightfully worshipped him. She was his own blood, his sister. Half-sister technically, but that made no difference. She was his. She was utterly his. She had no identity apart from him. He would not fail with her.

Cobblepot and Miss Dahl would do well to keep their ends of the bargain. If they even thought of cheating him they would be pumped so full of fear toxin that it would leave them virtually lobotomized. Small minds such as theirs would never remain intact after such concentrated enlightenment. They would not interfere. He owned her. No one, not them, not the Bat, not their mother, was keeping him from her. He had not wasted all of those years to fail now.

He quickly searched the room for a clock he knew he had hidden down there. 4:36. Perfect. That gave him a few hours to be absolutely ready. He slipped out of the too-small janitor's uniform and rummaged for something more fitting.

He had a date.

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: Stay creepy, Jonny.

Still burnt out from finals. I will try to get this thing updated at least once every two weeks, but we'll see. If I start lagging behind again, feel free to nag my lazy ass into gear.

And I didn't get to put it in until now, but Karen is a cleans at a wealthier person's home about a half-hour's drive from Arlen. Can you imagine the look on Granny Keeny's face at the thought of one of the Keenys, even Karen, working essentially as a maid? Haven't been able to put it in before since most of this is from Hester-Mae's and Jonathan's POVs and they don't really care what Karen does. Not because I'm a bad writer, no…

If you can guess the reference from Scarecrow's password, you get a virtual hug.


	4. Chapter 4

I said I'd have another chapter in two weeks, and here I am several _months_ later. I don't have any excuses. Just sincere apologies and hope that this chapter won't suck (which it probably will; the muse, she has left me).

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, the setting, anything. That's why I'm on fanfiction.

Chapter 4:

The Doll and the Penguin

Hester-Mae had to admit, the day out with her mother had been nice. She had never been anywhere more than thirty miles away from Arlen, making Gotham the most amazing place she had ever been. Wayne Tower had been unbelievably tall. When they were standing outside she had leaned back and tilted her head back as far as it would go and she still could not see the top. They let people ride the elevator to the top floor. She had stood near a window and pressed her forehead against the glass. She almost felt as if she were flying. Other than Wayne Tower, they had not really gone anywhere. They had mostly just walked around. Walking around had been more than enough. Despite its reputation, the city actually was pretty beautiful in a dark, overbearing sort of way. Well, she thought it was.

_And I'm going to rule over everything,_ she thought. _Well, me _and_ Jonathan are going to rule over everything._

She began to worry slightly when she noticed that the sun was getting too low for comfort. It wasn't that she was worried that she and her mother would be robbed, admittedly though that _was_ a slight worry, but that she would miss her meeting with Jonathan. Would he be angry if she were late? Would he understand that she had not wanted to be late? She hoped that he would understand and not be mad at her. She loved him very much and hoped that he would not hate her. Not that he would for something small, but she did not want to take chances. He was her only friend in the world.

She lightly tugged on her mother's sleeve, "Hey, it's gettin' a little late. Can we head back?"

Karen held her palm over her eyes to shield them from the sun, "Well, what do ya know, it is. Good idea, Baby-Mae."

Ignoring her daughter's usual, "Don't call me that!" Karen took Hester-Mae's hand and they headed back to their hotel. The girl pulled the hood of her red sweatshirt over her head as they headed back, not liking at all how obvious it was that she was nowhere near in the same league as the other patrons of the hotel. They were probably all making fun of her and her mother when they were not looking like everyone always did.

_It doesn't matter. I'll be Queen Goddess over all of them eventually. Jonathan said so. No one will ever make fun of me or Mom again._

She turned to her mother, "Remember that girl from earlier? She asked me if I could go to a movie with her later. Can I, please?"

Karen looked surprised, "Huh? Oh, I dunno, sweetie. It's a big city and there's scary people around. I don't know if I should let you go out by yourself."

"It's not by myself; it's with that girl and her folks! I'll be fine with her. She's from around here and I think her parents have, like, bodyguards and stuff. Please? She's the only new friend I've made in forever and I don't want to lose her the day I got her."

Karen's face softened, "Ah geez, hon. I don't want to make you lose your new friend. I know how hard it's been for you at school and home. I know you don't think I do, but I do."

She thought for a moment, "Look, if you let me meet this friend of yours and I find out the time the movie starts and ends I'll let you go, OK?"

Hester-Mae blinked. Well, that was easy. Karen had always been an extremely lenient parent, probably because her own mother and grandmother had been extremely controlling, but she had still been expecting more resistance than that. Not that she was complaining. Briefly, she wondered what she would do if Karen had refused. Run away, hope Jonathan would send some thugs to kidnap her, steal some stuff and put a Scarecrow signal in sky, all of the above? She really didn't know. It didn't matter. _He _would have thought of something. He always did when she needed help.

When they got back to their room Hester-Mae immediately flopped down onto her bed. Her heart was hammering so rapidly she swore she could feel it hitting her ribs. Her breaths were also coming in faster than normal. This was the most excited she had ever been. She could barely even think straight. After years and years, she was finally meeting her brother! She tried in vain to suppress an eager giggle.

"What're you laughing at, Baby-Mae?"

"Nothing, Mom. And—!"

"Stop calling you that, I know," Karen walked over to the bed to sit by her daughter, "So, when's your friend coming over? I'm going to have to talk with her before I let you go anywhere with her, especially in a city like this."

Hester-Mae flipped onto her stomach and placed her head into her hands, "I dunno. Like, seven-ish. Whenever it's time to go to the movie, I guess."

"What are you two seeing?"

"Mm, I think it's a sci-fi flick. Probably a remake."

"You gonna be scared going out with a new friend in the big city?"

The girl buried her face in a pillow, "I'll be fine, Mom. Stop treating me like a baby."

Karen ruffled her hair, "Sorry, honey. It's just that you _are_ my baby and I want to make sure you're going to be OK."

"I'll be just fine," _Jonathan'll always take care of me._

"If you say so," Karen kept running her fingers through Hester-Mae's hair, letting the strands fall against her daughter's head. The girl lightly swatted the hand away, not wanting her hair to be too messed up. Not today. She quickly picked herself up from the bed to search for a brush. Finding one, she looked for a mirror. She should look good. Or, at the very least, she shouldn't look like she had just crawled out of bed. Wincing as the brush tugged on every snag and tangle, she managed to make her hair look less like a rat's nest. She hoped. Her hand shook as she placed the brush down. She was so _nervous._ She shouldn't be, she knew. Jonathan would love her no matter how she looked, right? He liked her even when everybody in school picked on her for how she looked or who her mom was currently dating. He wouldn't care if she didn't look perfect. But he was the only person who was always there for her and if he left her for whatever reason…

_No. Must not think like that._

"Nervous about going out with a friend?" Karen asked, "You've never done this before, have you? Ah, geez, I didn't mean nothing by it, hon. I've never really gone out with a friend either. Boyfriends, yeah, but I never really had friends either and…"

Hester-Mae listened on and off to her mother's old stories. She didn't really care what her mother was talking about, but having some level of background noise was helpful. She'd never been this jittery.

On the other side of the hotel, someone else was having jitters as well.

Mary Dahl didn't see why _she _should be the one who had to babysit little baby Scarecrow while the real thing was breaking out of Arkham. Yes, make the one with the medical condition (that was no doubt aided by hormone pills from her greedy stage parents) lure in the brat because aw, don't she look precious? No one could ever suspect _her_.

She was not comfortable with this. Not at all. The only time she had ever committed any sort of crime was for personal revenge against her former costars. She wasn't one of Gotham's career crazies. She didn't blow up hospitals or kidnap mayors for the fun of it. She'd served her time, recognized that she had to make severe changes in her life, and tried to move on. She still regularly dined at the Iceberg Lounge, but in her defense the food was some of the best in the city and Cobblepot knew damn well she was not kidding when she said she was forty-six. She had never even _met_ Scarecrow before he had asked -_threatened_- her to lure his sister away from their mother.

Mary would bet all the money she had ever earned from _Love That Baby_ that the poor girl was not even his sister. To hell with how she looked, she couldn't really be his sister. People like Scarecrow did not have sisters. They spawned out of a dank pit somewhere under the Narrows and the closest things they had to siblings were fellow crazy people like Poison Ivy or Two-Face. Why in hell Scarecrow wanted the kid, she hoped she would never find out.

She looked at her room's clock. 6:45. Right then. Fifteen minutes until she had to grab the kid and get out of Dodge. She was still trying to think about what she would tell the mother. From what little Scarecrow had told her, she wasn't very bright and she wouldn't have a lot of trouble in convincing her to let the kid go, but she was still worried about how long it would take until the mother suspected something was up and decided to call the cops and have the big bad Bat hunt her down. Never fun.

She was still worrying even as she approached the room the kid and her mother were in. Two of her people, Carol and Desmond, were posing as her parents. It was slightly humiliating, considering that she had at least a good fifteen years on the two of them, but they were useful when she wanted to go out in public without all of the oh-are-you-lost-little-girl's.

The mother didn't look quite as Mary had thought she would. Mary had pictured a female Crane with long hair and instead it had turned out that Mama Scarecrow actually looked at least a little normal. Curled hair reaching the shoulders and dyed black to hide the gray, eyes that were actually an ordinary human color instead of Crane's rape-your-soul ice blue or the brat's unnaturally bright teal; really the most Scarecrow-esque thing about her was that she was fairly thin and even then it was a normal thin instead of Crane's too little body stretched out over too much length.

The mother—_Karen_ had been friendly enough. Mary thought it would have been impossible to convince any parent to let their kid go off with a near stranger in Gotham, but apparently Karen had yet to realize that she wasn't in Bumfuck, Georgia anymore. Maybe she really was as stupid as Scarecrow claimed. Carol and Desmond had done their jobs perfectly. They had chatted casually with Karen as if they really were just going to the movies and not abducting the poor woman's daughter to hand over to one of Gotham's most feared psychopaths. They had smiled, told Karen how happy they were that their "precious baby doll" had made a friend so quickly, that Hester-Mae was such a nice girl, and that they promised to take very good care of her and bring her right back to the room once the movie was over. Still, as convincing in the roles of Mary's parents as they were, Mary just could not get over how it should have been much harder for them to convince Karen to let her eleven-year-old _child_ go anywhere with strange people in the most crime-ridden and corrupt city on the face of the planet. She honestly felt bad about taking advantage of a woman who felt almost more like a child than the _actual_ child.

Speaking of which, the annoying little monster had been practically bouncing in her seat in unrestrained excitement all the while the adults, minus Mary as always, had been talking. She was already set to go in a red hooded sweatshirt that clashed horrifically with everything else she was wearing. Mary swore she would ask Scarecrow to give the kid a colorblindness test. That is, if she could work up the courage. Unlikely. Mary had to nudge her in the ribs to get her to calm down just a little bit. If being a normal child meant being that annoying, Mary was almost glad that she had never had a real childhood.

After what felt like an eternity to Mary, Karen got up to kiss her daughter on both cheeks, much to the girl's protest, and reminded her to come straight back once the show was over. The girl practically ran toward the door and out into the hallway, Mary and her bodyguards hurrying after. Mary was able to grab the hem of her sweatshirt after a spectacular burst of speed that left her near breathless.

"Don't—*_huff huff*_—run—*_wheeze *—_off!"

The girl stumbled a little and turned back to glare at the blonde, "You sound like an old lady."

Mary did her best to inhale and exhale slowly until she was breathing almost normally again, "I _am_ an old lady, you little brat. Don't they still teach you to respect your elders down in the bowels of whatever hole in Georgia you crawled from?"

"Yeah, but I don't care what they taught me 'cause I hate everyone in Arlen and I don't have to pay attention to nothing they said no more. I only have to listen to what Jonathan says. _He's_ the only person I respect now."

Mary scoffed. The girl leaked snotty little brat from every pore. Bad combination of an overly permissive mother and a presumably creepily indulgent brother, "Well, if you ever want to meet Jonathan at _all_, you're going to have to do everything I say until you actually see him and you're out of my hair. Got that?"

The girl and the woman in a girl's body glared at each other for a few seconds. Carol and Desmond stood staring at the two, unsure of what to do. The tension was thankfully broken by Karen suddenly opening the door. All four were startled and spun around to look at her.

"Oh, were you all talking? Sorry! Baby-Mae forgot something," ignoring the girl's groan of annoyance at her hated pet name, Karen held up a small pink hair clip, "Here you go! Almost left without it!"

As the girl reached up to take it from her mother, Karen pulled it back, "Oh, no. Let me."

She softly smoothed back her daughter's dry hair, fingers lovingly tracing through the almost straw-like strands. After gently sliding the clip into place, she kept her hands on the girl's face just a little while longer, smoothing away imaginary stray wisps of hair. Although the kid wasn't looking, her eyes were fixed firmly on her feet in an attempt to hide her embarrassment, Mary could see that Karen almost looked sad despite her smile.

"You be safe, OK?"

"Yes, Mama."

"And you come straight back here, now."

"Mm."

Karen wrapped her arms around the girl and pulled her to her chest, "Love you, Baby-Mae. So glad you got a friend."

The girl squirmed, trying to get out of her mother's arms, "Alright, alright! Lemme go! You're _embarrassing_ me in front of my new friend!"

Karen obeyed her daughter's wish and backed away. She looked toward Mary and her hired parents, "You keep her safe."

Carol and Desmond nodded cheerfully and gave their assurances while Mary did her best to quash down a slowly rising bubble of guilt. It was not the time to feel bad about bratty little kids. It was the time to save her own ass. Later, she'd donate a couple grand to some children's fund to save the lives of some kids who were _not_ Scarecrow spawn and feel better. For now, she just had to get the kid to the meeting point, hand her over, and forget the whole mess ever happened.

Karen stared at her daughter for a few seconds longer before giving a final wave and slowly going back to the room and closing the door. The girl carefully watched the door for a couple of moments to make sure that her mother would not be surprising the group again. After a too-long pause, she sighed in relief.

"OK," she said, her voice exasperated, "Can we go _now?_"

Oswald Cobblepot ran _the_ premier dining experience in all of Gotham if not the entire tri-state area and he very much wanted to _keep_ it that way, thank you. The Iceberg Lounge gave him prestige, respect, wealth, and renown that he had never known even during his time as one of Gotham's top costumed crime bosses. He put in hours of effort making sure that only the best chefs were hired and that every meal that they prepared was absolutely exquisite, that the staff was prompt and polite to a fault, that there was an abundance of the finest ingredients and beverages, and most importantly that there was not the slightest hint of any connections to his former life. True, the occasional "old colleague" would drop in for dinner or a few drinks, but as long as they were paying (no counterfeited money, of course), didn't wear their costumes, and didn't involve him in any _unsavory_ activities, then there was no harm. Tonight, however, was different.

Despite his considerable efforts to make the Lounge a place of elegance and class, he in no way cared to make his night club a "family" restaurant. There was nothing that went on in the Lounge that would make it illegal for minors to enter (gracious, no) and older teenagers of a wealthier persuasion were not an uncommon sight, but for the most part the Lounge catered to an overwhelmingly adult clientele. A group that contained two preteen girls, the taller of whom was extremely underdressed for the occasion, would stand out like a sore thumb in his Lounge. If they had appeared in the dining area proper, they would have garnered, or at least the tall and scrawny girl would have garnered, more than a few stares or perhaps even (heaven forbid) comments on how the Lounge's star must be falling to have customers like _that_.

Luckily for him, they were waiting at the staff entrance as he had instructed. He didn't like this. He had spent years salvaging his reputation and setting himself up as a gentleman who had severed all ties to a distasteful past. If anyone were to find out about this, his reputation would be in tatters and the Bat would hound him as if he were a cursed Baskerville. Alas, he hadn't any choice. It was either this or have his beloved Lounge flooded with fear toxin at least once a week for the rest of his days. Of all of the places for the freak to have a belated family reunion, why did it have to be _his_ place of business?

The four had crammed themselves into a corner, keeping away from the bustle of the chefs (for which Oswald felt a small twinge of gratitude though towards whom he did not know). The blonde shorter girl waved at him as he entered the kitchen and wearily stated, "Thanks for not making me do this alone, Ozzy. Can you get me a thing of cognac? My nerves are a little fried."

_Her_ nerves were fries, ha. Mary Dahl, the perpetually youthful, much to her ire, former TV star and criminal in her own right who was now one of his regulars. Most likely because he knew better than to card her. He sighed, "Maybe later when you're a proper customer. For now let's just wait for this all to be over."

He glanced at his current "charge." She was not a pleasant sight. Her freckled face might have been considered cute if not for her large, crooked nose that looked horrible on a child and even more crooked teeth. By her clothes he guessed that she did not come from much money but honestly, couldn't her mother have at least gotten the poor thing _braces?_ Not to mention those appallingly bright eyes that seemed to unnervingly pierce _into _him. Thankfully they were not quite as intense as those belonging to her ghastly brother, who had more or less weaponized his penetrating ice blue gaze. Grotesquely long and thin fingers attached to hands that looked more like flesh-colored spiders than human appendages danced horrifically with one another as those hideously bright eyes darted about the room. The creature was nervous. Good. If he and Miss Dahl had to be uncomfortable, then why should the brat be any better?

Cobblepot looked at his watch. 7:27. Thirteen minutes. Just thirteen minutes and the _thing_ would be gone and the Lounge would be safe. He glanced at her. She was chewing on her nails. Disgusting. And she was _staring_ at him. Those horrible too-large, too-bright eyes were _staring_ at him.

He grimaced, "Do you _need_ something, child?"

The eyes widened even more as the head they were bulging from shook slightly and the mouth below them garbled out something that might have started out as a "No, thank you," in the brain but in the journey to the vocal cords had repugnantly metamorphosed into a barely audible "Nothagyeh."

Miss Dahl piped up, "Can you believe this is the same kid who wouldn't shut up on the ride here? Be happy she's clammed up now, Ozzy. You wouldn't believe how annoying she can get."

_It_ glared at Miss Dahl and stuck out her tongue. Oh, the charming repartee of the juvenile.

He honestly couldn't understand what the Scarecrow would want with the child. Perhaps using the last in the line of his hated relatives as a guinea pig would give him his revenge on his past. Perhaps he wanted a henchgirl at long last and had settled for his backwoods hick of a baby sister out of sheer desperation. Perhaps he had finally flipped his lid for good and thought that this _thing_ would be an ideal apprentice to take on the mantle of Scarecrow and carry on the legacy. Cobblepot didn't know, didn't want to know, and frankly didn't care at all as long as the both of them would stay out of his hair for the rest of his life.

He checked his watch again. 7:29. _Damn _it. Why did time slow down when one was miserable? Eleven minutes. Just eleven minutes. He could do this. He'd waited in the dark for Batman to find him and interrogate him for longer periods of time. This was nothing. He was a Cobblepot. Waiting was nothing he could not handle.

Hester-Mae had thought that she had the jitters earlier in the hotel room. What she felt then was nothing compared to what she felt in the kitchen. She wasn't nervous when she was driving with Mary and her two people over to what was the fanciest restaurant she had ever seen. She had spent most of that time talking about all the letters she had wrote to Jonathan and what he had written back, about how she was going to be the coolest super villain _ever_, and how she had to get her hair cut short because these bunch of jackasses in school led by that asshole Jayden had pinned her to a wall and cut off her right braid with a pocket knife and even cut her cheek a little while they were doing it for no good reason (OK, she had made fun of Jayden for thinking Destiny would ever look twice at him because she was all the way in eighth grade, but seriously). When she became a villain, everyone in Arlen would suffer first. Whole town, gone. And then the rest of Georgia for not nuking Arlen earlier for making them look bad. Yeah.

But now she wasn't in a car with a girl who looked just a little younger than her. She was in a hot, crowded professional kitchen like the ones on TV and neither the people rushing around or the short, fat guy with the weird nose—_holy crap it was the freaking _Penguin_ could he read minds oh please don't let him read minds_—looked like anyone she could talk to.

It wasn't at all like how she imagined she would be meeting Jonathan. She had though they would go to a smoky criminal bar like the ones in the old gangster movies and then she'd be left by herself and then there would be Jonathan. Instead, she was in a claustrophobic, hot room that wasn't at all mysterious and cool and she wondered why Jonathan would pick here.

Maybe…

Maybe he wasn't coming.

Maybe this was all some joke. Some horrible, mean joke. He had just sent her here for a laugh. And maybe for her to be killed and cooked and served to one of the rich people in the restaurant. She fidgeted even more than she already had been doing. What was she doing here? All of a sudden she wanted to be home again. She missed her enormous bug collection that she had caught herself, she missed her ant farm, and she missed her books. She even missed her familiar, lumpy bed, the never-working air conditioner, and her mother's boyfriend of the week whats-his-name.

She was stupid to think anyone actually wanted to be around her. After all, he _had_ pointed a gun at her head when she was only a baby, right? And besides, if no one at school liked her or cared when anything bad happened to her, why should Jonathan?

She sniffled a little and tried to hold back tears.

_Don't be dumb, Mae,_ she consoled herself, _He got you all this way. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't like you none. Stop worrying. You sound like Ruth does when her dad's five minutes late picking her up from school._

Her thoughts did little to make her feel better.

"So, when's he showin' up?" she tentatively whispered to Mary.

Mary sharply said, "I don't know," in a way that made Hester-Mae scowl. She was just asking a question. Rude.

She was starting to wish she hadn't brought a sweatshirt. It was so _hot_. Deciding not to have to deal with Mary again she looked at the Penguin (she still couldn't get over that one of Gotham's old big time bad guys was _right there_). He looked aggravated already and she wasn't sure it would be a good idea to get a guy like _him_ pissed off and then get fed to a bunch of meat-eating penguins or something. But she was miserable and cooped up and some of the chefs and other people were _staring_ at her and she hated _hated_ **_hated_** when people stared at her and she wanted to _rip_ all of their _eyes_ out so they would _stop_ and she had to get out _now_.

She barely audibly asked, "Um, Mr. Penguin?"

He swiveled to look at her, surprised that she had spoken. He quickly barked out, "What?"

Oh, damn. She hoped he wasn't really angry. If he was, he wouldn't hurt her because she had Jonathan, right? She hoped not. She knew she probably couldn't poison him or burn him like everyone else who hurt her.

"Well, it's really hot in here…" she said.

He raised an eyebrow and snidely replied, "It ought to be. It's a damn kitchen."

"Well, um," _Spit it out, dumbass,_ "I was wondering if I could, ya know, step outside for just a minute?"

"Absolutely not. This whole ordeal is annoying and unpleasant enough without Spooky throwing a damned fit and gassing my restaurant because his new pet guinea pig went and got herself snatched up by some pervert," he said, his hand reaching up to rub his forehead.

She sniffed, "I can take care of myself."

"Maybe in whatever hole in Georgia you crawled out of, but not here."

Hester-Mae pouted and crossed her arms. Everyone except Jonathan thought she was either some little hellspawn or a baby. It wasn't _fair._ She stomped her foot and said, "Jonathan wouldn't let nothing happen to me. I can go out if I want!"

She immediately regretted losing her temper. This was not one of her stupid classmates that she could intimidate with her height. This was the Penguin. Who was currently glaring at her through his monocle. And could very much have her drowned in cement any time he wanted.

"Listen up, little girl," he said, "You're probably used to getting your way with your mommy and—God only knows why—that freak, but don't think that I'm like them. The only thing keeping you from ending up as the veal for tomorrow's menu is your abomination of a brother so if I were you I'd speak with just a _little_ more respect. Understood?"

She quickly nodded as Mary groaned and rolled her eyes. She turned to Hester-Mae, "What he said. Seriously, girl. Don't make this worse than it is."

Hester-Mae looked down at the floor, avoiding everyone's eyes. _This sucks._ She hadn't been expecting _this._ She hadn't known what to expect, but it was _not_ this. People were being mean to her again. Sure, it was just because they were probably hot and bored like she was, but still. Why had Jonathan chosen _this_ place? Why couldn't he have snuck into the hotel room himself and then the two of them could have escaped through the window all cool and stuff? That would have been _so_ much better.

Her eyes rapidly turned toward the back door of the kitchen when several loud knocks came from the other side. She looked at the others. The Penguin shrugged, "It's probably _your_ guy. _You_ answer it."

She softly moved towards the door. It would have been so much easier if everyone else hadn't been _looking_. Her fingers trembled as they reached for the knob. Slowly turning it, she felt her heart leap into her throat and block off her air flow. That was the only reason she could think of why she couldn't breathe. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she gently pushed it open.

No one.

Letting out a large gust of air, she stepped out, looking around. She still could not see anyone. Shaking her head, she turned back towards the Penguin and Mary.

"I don't see nobody."

The Penguin scoffed and said, "Nonsense. No one knocks on _my _door for the fun of it. Look harder. Knowing Scarecrow, it's him and he's doing this on purpose."

She turned back to the door and again stepped out. The cold of the outside was in stark contrast to the hot, crowded kitchen. She wrapped her arms around herself. She knew Gotham would be colder than Arlen, but she hadn't expected this in May. Walking out a little further than before, she turned around when she heard the door behind her shut. Shaking from fear as well as cold, she softly called out, "Hello? Jonathan? That you?"

No answer.

She quickly walked back toward the door. As uncomfortable as it was in that stuffy kitchen, it was better than out in the cold with no one around. Her hand reached out to the knob, barely brushing it before a hand clamped down over her mouth. She let out a muffled shriek before her arms were held behind her back by the assailant's free arm. Her attacker dragged her thin, struggling body several yards away from the backdoor of the night club and pinned her to a wall.

"Gotcha."

Her eyes were wide with terror as she looked at the face of her captor. A large brim covered his face, only piercing ice-blue eyes and a wide grin showing. Under his hand, she gasped. She knew that face. She'd seen in in a million papers and on a million news stories. She even knew that low, hypnotic voice.

"Recognize me?"

His hands removed themselves as he stood back, grin widening further. Hester-Mae simply stared at the figure in disbelief. Her brain was only able to form one cohesive thought, a thought which faintly escaped from her lips.

"Jonathan?"

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><p>Very long AN: Penguin's POV is very hard to write from. I'm not sure I got the right combination of the upper class and cultured gentleman (and humongous better-than-you snob) with the weary retired crime boss who's too old for this shit (and a bit of an asshole, insulting a not-so-little girl like that). I'm also not sure if Hester-Mae is a believable enough eleven-year-old. I'm trying to make her kind of intelligent for her age (if she wasn't at least a little bit I don't think Jonny would have anything to do with her) but lacking common sense and kind of annoying as well because while she's smart, she's still really an immature foulmouthed brat. Is she too annoying?

Horrorfana, welcome to the fandom! Becky Albright's from a oneshot comic called New Year's Evil: Scarecrow. The whole thing's on DeviantArt so you could read it there. It's really hard to find a copy of it (or else I'd have one). You might also want to check out the Batman: Haunted Knight collaboration between Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale which is in most bookstores that carry comic trades. It's got three Batman Halloween specials and Scarecrow's the feature villain in the longest one, naturally.

PS: Jonny's password from last chapter was the issue he premiered in: World's Finest Comics #3, Fall 1941. Not very original, but eh…


	5. Chapter 5

Moving on! BTW, finally got the Becky Albright issue in a trade with other Scarecrow stories! Yay! I love it so…

Disclaimer: All is DC Comics'. ALL. I own nothing. Technically, not even Mae.

On a personal note, thank you so much to everyone who's supported this story so far, and I'm sorry for the hectic update schedule. Thank you for continuing to read anyway and if you can think of any way to improve it or to make it more enjoyable for you to read, feel free to criticize to your hearts' content.

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><p>Chapter 5:<p>

Reunion

She frightened marvelously. He had anticipated that she would. No attempts to hide her fear, no forced bravado, just the pure unrestrained terror of a small child in incomprehensible (and delightfully self-induced) danger. Her eyes widened until they seemed almost ready to burst from her skull. Her face had blanched until it was as pale as a drained corpse. She started to twitch ever so pleasingly. He was only saddened that he had to stifle her scream which, remembering those of Granny, Grandmother, and their mother, he was sure would have been lovely. There was the almost reverential awe with which she looked at him following her realization of who he was. This was how he should be treated: with all of the respect of the awesome and terrible god of fear that he was. She did calm somewhat when she realized his identity. While her trust pleased him, he so greatly wanted to see that look of terror again. Alas, one could not have everything that one wanted.

He motioned for her to remain still whilst he placed a small box on the front step of the staff entrance of the Iceberg Lounge. It would not be stolen; even the lowest thug knew better than to steal from the Penguin even if he was now technically legitimate. Inside of the box were two bundles of cash, each worth $10,000 intended to ensure the continued silence of the Penguin and Mary Dahl. A little something extra to smooth over any harsh feelings. Considering how they only had to babysit for less than an hour, he really should not have had to give them anything, but as much stock as he put in fear, he knew better than to underestimate greed. A lesser emotion, to be sure, but still a powerful one. He couldn't have any tattletales spoiling his fun, now could he?

He turned his gaze back to the girl. She continued to be riveted to the spot. Disturbingly large and bright eyes that so wonderfully showed the fear of their owner were fixated on him. Her overly tall, overly thin body combined with her slightly larger-than-average head gave her the appearance of a sort of extremely large bobble-head doll. She had yet to speak, which was likely for the best. No doubt she still had that horrific backwoods Georgian twang that he had worked so hard to rid himself of and replace with a much more refined and scholarly New English accent. He just knew he would have to train her to speak a little more polished than she no doubt did at the moment. All in good time.

He motioned for her to move closer to him. She hesitated, as was proper. Despite her trust, there was still some lingering, delightful fear. He smirked. The smart-mouthed little brat from his letters who boasted that she would bring cities to their knees had been replaced by a wonderfully frightened little girl. _Adorable._ He motioned again, saying, "Now now, little sister. I'm not going to eat you."

Her mouth twisted in what he guessed was supposed to be a smile, but she was apparently still far too frightened to smile properly. Ordinarily he would have loved to revel in her terror, but they really had to hurry. They only had two hours at best before their mother, as pitifully dim as she was, would begin to worry and bring about the attention of the Great Flying Rat. He again motioned and whispered, "Come now, we really must be going, Mae. Do you prefer 'Mae,' or your full name?" He should refer to her by her preferred name to make everything more personal. To make her feel close to him. If she felt close, she would be more likely to trust him and then to obey him. And, after all, they were _family_.

"Mae's fine…" he heard her barely whisper. Step by tentative step, she tottered closer to him until they were only at arm's length away. As her arm reached out to him, he noticed a slight tremor in the fingers. _Sooo_ _frightened, aren't we, my dear? _She flinched when he finally took her hand in his.

Her hand seemed so frail in his. So _breakable_. If he wanted, he could easily rip her apart like a ragdoll and there would be nothing she could do about it. He had always been the weakest of Gotham's elite. Being so much physically stronger than someone was unfamiliar, yet strangely pleasing. Then again, after nearly ten years of going toe-to-toe with the Bat, he should very well hope to be more physically imposing than an eleven-year-old girl.

She followed him almost mechanically as they walked. Her eyes were still intently focused on him. She was still too frightened to speak. As lovely as it was to have someone so terrified of him, and it was _lovely_, he suspected that he would have a tougher time educating her in the art of fear if she remained so unresponsive. Communication was essential in the teaching process. To keep that reverential love that was so vital to his control over her, he needed for her to regard him as her friend. A friend that she should obey unquestioningly and to whom she owed everything, but a friend, nonetheless.

"Do you have any questions, Mae?"

She jerked at the sudden sound of his voice. While whispery, soft, and relatively high-pitched, it somehow still managed to be as resonating and imposing as if it were a deep bass. He was quite proud of how he had mastered it to have such an effect. She softly emitted a quiet, "Ah." Hardly a good conversation starter.

"None? Speak up, little sister. Tell big brother everything. Don't you remember asking me every question that popped into your head during our writing exchange? I told you in our letters that you could always be open with me. Your _dear Jonathan_."

She continued to stare at him for a few moments. She licked her lips and swallowed to wet her uncomfortably dry throat. Finally opening her mouth, she uttered a few unintelligible syllables.

"What was that? Speak up, Mae. I cannot read your mind."

She lowered her head in embarrassment. She raised her voice by barely a fraction of a decibel, "…not wearing a mask…"

Ah, there she was. He had succeeded in making contact. He softly replied, "No, I'm not. Why would I? I'm not using my toxin tonight. Unless you _want_ for me to test my new batch on you, that is?"

In a sudden jolt of movement, she violently shook her head in protest. It seemed that she remembered the time that he had let her try a little bit of a weaker strain of his toxin that he had managed to sneak out through the mail. She had unfortunately not enjoyed the experience. No matter. He had not enjoyed fear either in his earlier days. He would have to coach her into properly understanding how fear could bring enlightenment and ecstasy that nothing else in the world could. She would come to understand the wonder and glory of terror. He would make her.

But now was not the time for that. Sneaking from the classier areas of Gotham, if any section of the rotting cesspool of a city could be called "classy," to the rather immense abandoned section of town was relatively easy, as most of Gotham's inert citizens would either be too frightened or too apathetic to report him. Still, with a child in tow…even Gotham had standards. Despite the crime levels that put Sodom and Gomorrah to shame, the child abuse rates were unusually low for such a large city. The most common theory for that was the fact that most of Gotham's big league criminals had become who they were thanks to traumatic childhoods. They thus tended to not take a shine to people who reminded them of said traumas. Even he was not too fond of it, though he was not too fond of any situation where a weaker person was beaten by those larger than his or herself (although, if the weaker child was the one committing violence against his or her oppressors, he was far more accepting). He hoped that the girl's unusual height as well as hood-obscured face would keep her from attracting too much notice.

She was still silent. Her hand gripped his tightly; too afraid of getting lost to let go of him, yet too afraid of him to speak more than a few sentences. Interesting. He led her on as they slunk through alleyways and narrow streets; various dispossessed persons, prostitutes, johns, and small-time thugs quietly moved from his path, trying to pretend that they did not see that one of Gotham's most notorious had yet again escaped. It was none of their business. Nor was it their business what he was doing with the gangly thing that he was dragging behind him. She kept her head down and hunched over as if trying to become invisible. He frowned. Being afraid of him was one thing. He was the God of Fear and thus should rightfully be dreaded. But to see his own flesh-and-blood, the brat he had trained himself for years, what was essentially his _protégé_ for goodness sake, shrink in terror from the scum of Gotham made him…"angry" was not quite the word, but nevertheless he was displeased. He would have to correct this behaviour. But first, home.

At times it seemed as if Gotham was mostly comprised of abandoned apartment complexes, factories, warehouses, and the like. It was fitting, in a way, the city being more occupied by the ghosts of its long-faded glory days than by actual people. The further the two walked into the forgotten and slowly moldering parts of the city, the more the assortment of similarly abandoned people gradually dwindled down. This deep section of the ghost city belonged to people like _him,_ who were most at home in the darkest of shadows from which they had seemingly been born.

The girl had by this point gone from merely holding his hand to pressing herself as closely to him as possible, her fear of the outside world overpowering the fear of him. It was rather uncomfortable for the Scarecrow. He was not used to human contact outside of the occasional brush while walking through the Arkham halls or the usual blow from Batman. Having someone cling to him for _comfort_ was utterly alien. She had not yet asked to go back or expressed verbally that she was frightened. She trusted him, and it was a feeling that he had not experienced since the night poor Molly Randall had burst sobbing into his office after her "date" with that animal. Fortunately, this girl had been drawn to him under far less tragic circumstances.

Approaching the warehouse that currently served as his headquarters, he turned about, scanning the rooftops of the surrounding buildings and straining his ears for any minute sound. Although the Bat was likely to be more concerned with the still-loose Joker than with him, it _never_ paid to take chances. He had gained more than a few scars, broken bones, and bruises learning _that_ lesson. The fact that he had essentially kidnapped a child would likely bring the Bat harder on his heels than ever before. On top of that, there were still the numerous Bat-Spawn to look out for. There were so many that word in Arkham was that every full moon the Big Bad Bat simply grew them on his back under that cape until they were big enough and then budded them off, like coral. He did not believe such nonsense, of course (Gordon obviously had some sort of vigilante replicant production plant under the police station).

She had been confused at first when they entered the empty warehouse, only to look on in awe as he revealed the hidden keypad and entered the sequence that would allow the two to enter his true lair. He heard her gasp slightly as he opened up the secret door, revealing the staircase. So shocked at everything, the poor creature. All of the bravado and confidence she had displayed in her letters to him had left her. He held out his hand to her again, "We're here."

To his surprise, she took his hand willingly. Perhaps she had gained a little of her former daring back. He let her go ahead of him as he resealed the door above them. He wondered about what he should do with her first. Teach her the layout of the city and the best places to target for fear toxin attacks, the best ways to terrorize Gotham _without_ the use of fear toxin, what to do when in the presence of the other costumed villains, there were so many things she had to learn about how crime in Gotham City worked. If he were to let her go out on the town as she was and learn the tricks of the trade from scratch as he and most of the others had, he might as well just fit her for a pair of concrete shoes now and be done with it.

As he reached the bottom of the staircase, he noticed that she was quite contently walking about his small lair, gazing at the various materials he had strewn about. From his bottles of psychoactive chemical compounds to his assortment of various costumes; from his collection of stolen weaponry to defend himself from Batman to his books on psychopharmacology and the psychology of fear. Her dread of being out in the open in the streets of Gotham was long gone, to be replaced with the some of the boldness he remembered from the letters. She turned to look at him as he quietly walked towards her.

"Is this really it?" she asked, excitement apparent in her voice. Her accent was also apparent, but no matter. He would work on that later.

"It is," he replied, a slight smile gracing his face. He was pleased that she seemed enthralled with the materials of his Great Work. That was good. Very good. He only wished that she were still a little more frightened and was still put out that she found the streets of Gotham to be more terrifying than to be alone in a room with him. It was likely for the best, he reminded himself. If she were too frightened of him, she would lose any love for him and strive to escape. He couldn't have that. She had to remain somewhat at ease around him if he were to teach her a blasted thing.

She was running her hands over one of his newer costumes with the hood replacing his more traditional hat. He was wearing one of his old hats to greet her, as he remembered that she had liked them, or so she had claimed in her letters. _She must be at least a little comfortable around me_, he had to remind himself again. By the way she was going through his things as if they were practically hers, she likely already was. He made no move to stop her from looking around. She should learn to be familiar with the instruments that she would one day use to assist him and his Cause. Anything he had could easily be replaced, and if she hurt or poisoned herself, it would only serve as a lesson. Nothing taught respect for dangerous chemicals like practical experience. He should know.

"What's this?"

The girl's voice drew him out of his thoughts. He turned to look towards her, only to see that she was currently holding the only costume he had ever made for someone else. The costume he had sewn for Becky Albright. She held it to her chest, trying to see how it would look on her, "Did you make this for me? I mean, I don't think you'd ever wear it? Why's it all…I dunno how to say it…skanky?"

"No! No, th-that's not for you," he stuttered as he snatched the offending article from her hands, feeling a blush creep onto his face. Why hadn't he burned the damn thing?!

"I'm sorry!" he heard her say, "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings! I actually really like it! I'm sure you worked hard on it for me, it's just that—"

"You did nothing wrong! This was never meant for you. It was merely a…sewing experiment. As you can see, it didn't go quite how I wanted."

"Oh. Sorry," she fidgeted awkwardly for a few moments before again wandering off. Good. He quickly threw Albright's would-be costume to the corner of the room closest to him. He would dispose of it later.

_Perfect,_ he thought, _The first real conversation I have with the girl, and it's about the costume I made for Albright. This had better not be an omen._

He turned to look back at the girl, whose eyes were currently fixated on the area where he kept his chemicals. His keys to the human mind, his gateways to the enlightenment of terror, his angels, as angels were the messengers of gods, and what were these compounds but the messengers of the God of Fear? They spread his gospel of horror to the masses that could do nothing but listen until the Bat materialized from thin air to ruin everything. No matter. Even the Bat knew the power of fear, using it as his main weapon for his quixotic mission, and even he would one day realize the futility of resistance and the bliss of accepting the nightmares the Scarecrow was more than willing to give.

She seemed to be almost hypnotized by the sight of the chemicals. She knew what they were used for. If she had really watched him as much as she claimed, she knew exactly what they could do. What they had done before. What they would continue to do in the future. The screams they induced, the simultaneous domination and freeing of minds. While he could easily bring fear without his angels, they were the key to bringing _all_ of Gotham to its knees in one blow.

Here was an opening for where to begin his lessons, and he felt the edges of his mouth creep towards his ears in a grin that could strike fear even into the black heart of the devil himself. He placed his hands on her shoulders, still unused to human contact. It comforted him somewhat to see her flinch slightly under his touch, the feeling alien to her as well. He whispered in her ear, "Do you know what those are?"

Her eyes did not move as she replied, "Yeah. Y-Your stuff, right?"

"The tools of a god. Just as Thor had his hammer and Zeus had his lightening, so do I have my weapons to instill order in the world," he gestured towards the assorted containers, "This is how I perform my sacred mission to make the world and humanity how they should be. This is what you will help me do."

He felt something akin to a twinge of pride as he saw her approach his angels and softly reach out a finger to touch a label: _Atropine_. She turned her head to face him, eyes glowing eerily under the poor lighting in the room, "How do they work?"

He felt his grin widen, "Let's start with that one…"

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><p>AN: And thus Frankencrane begins work on his monster.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: All characters and settings and etc belong to DC Comics. The real DC Comics universe. Not the reboot where the awesome Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown were unceremoniously erased for idiotic reasons.

A note: Please do not use any of the described chemicals below for the lulz or to poison people. Please?

Chapter 6:

Poisons and Other Methods of Sibling Bonding

"This, little Mae, is the tropane alkaloid _atropine_. Have you heard of it before?"

Hester-Mae (no, just Mae now; that was what _he_ was going to call her) shook her head. She frankly hadn't heard of half the words Jonathan just used.

Jonathan carefully lifted the vial of the substance and took one of her hands to place it in. She stared at it in awe. So this was used to make that nightmare juice?

"Hot as a hare, blind as a bat, dry as a bone, red as a beet, and mad as a hatter. That's what this does," he said, eyes on the vial in her hands, "I try not to add too much, as aside from the hallucinations it also induces seizures which makes it harder to observe what kind of effect the fear is having on the subjects, as well as tachycardia," a word which Jonathan did not ever define for her, "which can kill the subjects. We don't want that."

She looked up, "We don't?"

"Of course not, silly girl. We don't want to _kill_ people. That's barbarism best left for inferior specimens like Zsasz and the Joker. What we _want_ is to make people realize their worst nightmares and embrace them," he gently took the vial back from her hands and placed it with its brothers. He reached out for another, "This needs to be activated with a monoamine oxidase inhibitor in order to properly have its effect, but dimethyltryptamine is one of my personal favorite ingredients," Mae nodded, although she had not understood a word, "It produces wonderfully frightening visions. You know, certain religious groups in Brazil have understood this and use it in their ceremonies. It is a comfort to know that there are at least some out there who understand the beneficial elements of embracing fear and meeting it rather than rejecting it."

She noticed him looking down on her and quickly nodded. He sighed, "You didn't understand a word of that, did you?"

She blushed, "Not really…"  
>"How far have you gotten in your science classes?"<p>

"Um, we're learnin' about the different kingdoms and stuff, like plants an' fungi an' all that."

"Anything about molecular structure?"

"What?"

He sighed again, "I thought so. Arlen's educational standards are as abysmal usual. Do they still teach creationism in biology?"

She nodded.

"I figured as much."

The hand still on her shoulder drummed its fingers a few times as its owner thought. He sighed once more before moaning, "I knew I would have to reeducate you, but I did not think that I would have to do so much. I thought you would at least be familiar with the basics how molecules worked. Have you truly not looked through what little the library has in independent research? I did when I was your age."

She fidgeted nervously, wondering if he was rejecting her. She hoped he wasn't. She really hoped. She coughed slightly, "Ahem, well, it's just, y'know, I always liked bugs more'n stuff like that. I could use them to scare people instead? Lots of people are dumb and're scared 'a bugs. I think it'd be cool to actually use what people're afraid of instead 'a always just makin' 'em hallucinate it."

"But what of the people who are _not_ frightened by your beloved arthropods? How do you propose to frighten them?"

"I dunno…I could always throw whatever they're afraid of at 'em too?"

"And how will you know what they're afraid of?"

"I could threaten to stab 'em. Everyone's afraid 'a gettin' killed by some crazy, especially in Gotham."

To her surprise, he laughed and clapped his hand on her shoulder.

"So violent! But remember, we aren't trying to kill them."  
>"I know that! But I could just act like I was gonna. I wouldn't actually do it. Or like, I saw this in a movie, where you can stab somebody right and it won't kill 'em. It just hurts a lot and I could, like, just pretend that I got 'em somewhere bad, you know?"<p>

He hummed softly, "Clever. I admit, the toxins are becoming a bit of a crutch for me. I really should do more things without them. They are useful for inducing city-wide fear, but I can more than manage without them. Maybe I should plan something like that, simply to get myself back into the swing of things…I do hate it when people accuse me of being helpless and not frightening without them…"

She noticed that his attention was beginning to drift from her and piped up, "Can I come? I think it'd be fun. And it'd be my first big villain thing!"

He looked back to her, chuckled, and tapped the end of her nose lightly, "I don't think you're _quite_ ready yet, although I appreciate the enthusiasm. No, you've got a long way to go before you're in costume, rendering the people of this cesspool petrified. Do you want something to eat?"

The last question had come out of nowhere and briefly confused her. She looked up at him. He repeated himself, "Would you like something to eat?"

She felt her stomach growl and realized that she hadn't eaten for a few hours. Mama must've thought that she'd get something at the movie theater. Surprised that she hadn't noticed her own hunger, she said, "Yeah. Actually I'm pretty frickin' hungry."

"I thought so. I could hear your stomach," he said as he walked away from her and searched through a box. He pulled out a wrapped bar a handed it to her, "Here. I usually have trouble remembering to eat as well, particularly when I'm working on a new formula. I more or less live off of these."

She looked down to see that it was some sort of protein bar. She had never had one before, Mama and her ordinarily living off of whatever cheap, nonperishable food in bulk that she could afford. It was never really any good and neither of them ate much of it, but Mama often joked that at least she still had her 17-year-old body at 50. She stopped reminiscing and took an experimental bite. It was better than she had thought it would be. She looked back up at Jonathan and suddenly remembered her manners, "Oh! Thank you! I didn't realize I hadn't ate nothin'. You think bein' in that kitchen woulda made me hungry, but everyone was lookin' at me an' I was nervous an' I was sweatin' like a whore in church 'cause it was so hot. And Penguin's kind of a jerk."

Jonathan smiled, "Oswald can be that way. He's a fairly pompous bastard at times. He always did think he was better than the rest of us because he was a Cobblepot. He should have met Granny. Either the two of them would have been best friends, or they would have murdered one another arguing over whose family was more prestigious."

Mae laughed a little, if only to please Jonathan. She twitched her fingers slightly in a nervous tic before asking, "So, we really aren't going to be doing any big schemes soon?"

"Of course not. The last thing I want now is for you to be discovered so soon. If you are, everything is ruined. Even in Gotham they do not take child endangerment well. If any of the Bats come, and I assure you they _will_, you will not be sent to Arkham with me. You'll be put either into the system or into juvenal hall until you're eighteen. You don't want that, do you?"

Mae shook her head. Nearly everyone in Arlen but her mother always said that she'd wind up in juvie one day. She had to prove them wrong.

"Good girl. You'll never go against my orders, will you?" he said, ruffling her hair.

"No," she said. She never had before and had no plans of doing so. If he told her to do something, he was only trying to help her. He always knew what was best.

He gently smoothed the hair that he had disturbed before walking over to a set of books. She watched as he stared at them and mumbled to himself before finally selecting one and handing it over to her.

"It was the simplest book on the matter that I could find. Study it, and if you need clarification on anything, ask me. I suspect you'll need clarification, if Arlen's educational standards are as they ever were."

She looked down at the book: _The Elements of Life: Atoms, Molecules, and Their Structures._

"A textbook?"

"Yes. You don't honestly expect to become feared overnight, do you? Most of the elite in Gotham were scientists of one form or another before discovering their true callings. Enthusiasm alone does not make the criminal mastermind. It takes intelligence and dedication. How is this any different from when I had you research anything to help you to get revenge on the worms in Arlen?"

"It's not…and can you stop bringin' up Arlen? I wanna forget it. I'm not goin' back ever."

Jonathan's face changed. She couldn't tell what his expression meant. Was he sad or angry or what? She hoped he wasn't angry.

"It really hasn't changed, has it?" he said.

"I dunno. I dunno what it was like when you lived there."

"Horrible, filled with small people with small minds eager to crush anything they instinctively knew was greater than they could ever be. Unwilling to notice or care if an old hag tortured her great-grandson," his face darkened. Mae backed away from him slightly. Should she have said anything? He was beginning to scare her.

He continued, "No…No no no. They didn't care. Hell, even if the hag hadn't tortured me, the rest of the people did more than their fair share. Never leaving me alone, the teachers accusing me of cheating because they couldn't comprehend that anyone actually could _study_. The Neanderthals who would always use me as their punching bag just because I was too scrawny from malnutrition to fight back. The bitch who told me she liked me only to set me up for her boyfriend to humiliate me," he smiled grimly, scaring Mae even more, "Oh, but I got them back, little Mae. Killed her, paralyzed him. And you know what else?"

The more he talked, the more he scared her. He had written about his crimes in his letters, and that had been fun. But to hear him _say_ it…to see his face, to listen to the horrifying mixture of anger and glee and _satisfaction_ at his deeds and how he had hurt people and _watched_ as he had hurt them…

She had hurt people. She had hurt many people over the years, all of whom deserved it if you asked her. She would even admit that she enjoyed getting revenge on people who had hurt her. But she had never watched. Never watched as they actually got hurt. Never watch as they suffered from what she did to them. She didn't think that she could, now that she thought about it. And she definitely didn't think that she would talk about watching people suffer the way that he did. This was different than just reading about it. To actually _see_ him and _hear_ him and to be in the same _room_ with the person who could do this...

She noticed that she was shaking. Shaking because of _Jonathan._ This wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to be afraid of him. He was her best friend, her big brother, the only person in the world she could trust. But she was. She was terrified of him. She had to stop this.

Barely thinking, she quickly ran to him and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. He stopped and she knew he was looking down at her, probably shocked. She also knew that she was still shaking and hugged him tighter to try to stop it.

"Please, stop. It's over. Just _stop._"

She hoped he was listening. He still hadn't talked. That was good, right?

She felt him lean down and heard him whisper, "Did I scare you?"

She kept her face in his shoulder and nodded. She felt him still for a second. Was he disappointed? One of his hands moved to her shoulder while the other stroked her head.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

The two of them stayed that way for a while, Mae still too scared to move. He said he hadn't meant it, and she believed him. Jonathan wouldn't lie to her, right? She didn't let go until she felt him gently push her away.

"I think you should get some sleep, little Mae. There are a couple blankets over there," he said, pointing to where they were located. She nodded and headed over to where he said. She really should. All of a sudden, she felt so _tired._

Setting up a makeshift bed, she looked towards Jonathan, who smiled at her before walking over to his mini-lab, probably to work on a new fear toxin.

She curled up into a ball under one of the blankets, feeling relieved that the first day was over and done with.

_It'll get better, Mae,_ she told herself, _You and Jonathan really only just met. Things'll get better once you know each other better._

_You'll see._

Scarecrow looked over his would-be acolyte in contemplation. He had truly not expected to frighten her so while musing about his past, although he was far from disappointed that he had, but what had truly surprised him was her reaction. He had terrified her, and she had _hugged_ him. She was struck with fear and yet ran to embrace the source of said fear.

_What an interesting development._

She really had been frightened. He felt her tremble, felt her heart jackhammer even through her red sweatshirt and his coat. Her face was pressed so tightly to his chest, presumably so that she wouldn't see him, that when he pulled her away the imprint of the fabric of his coat was on her face. So scared, and yet still so devoted to him.

He felt a grin stretch his face. It seemed as if his lectures on embracing fear instead of fleeing it had not completely ran over the girl's head, even if she had taken his words more literally than he had meant. Still, he had something more to work with. He could learn to keep her terrified of him, yet still completely loyal and under his control.

He leaned back in his chair, content.

Things were off to a good start.

* * *

><p>AN: Shorter than usual, but oh well. Keep it creepy, Jonny.


	7. Chapter 7

So. Finals. Graduation. Looking for and then having to work a new job. Lots of other life changes. This is the first time I've been able to work on this for a while. You've probably all moved on, it's been half a year after all, and I don't blame you, but here we are. Only a little chapter, but it's all I can do for now.

Disclaimer: I do not own DC. If I did, Jonathan would still have his Year One background and not the mad scientist father one. Seriously, WHAT.

* * *

><p>Chapter Seven:<p>

A Study in Violence

Mae twitched in her sleep and reached out a twig-like freckled arm to feel about for her bedside lamp, the only source of light her room had. Feeling only unfamiliar cold hard concrete, she jolted upright and rapidly spun her head about, needing to see where she was.

Books, chemicals in containers of varying sizes and shapes, masks, both for protection from gas and for theatrics, costumes, a thin man leaning over a desk and working on something that Mae could not see. Jonathan Crane.

_Oh yeah…_

She stretched out her arms over her head, wincing at how much she ached after sleeping on the hard ground. She would never complain about the springs in her mattress at home poking her again. She slid the ragged blanket that her half-brother had loaned her off of her legs and picked up her faded red hoodie that she had used as a makeshift pillow. She tugged her pale orange shirt down to straighten it and, still groggy from sleep, wobbled groggily over to where Jonathan was busily working.

He was staring intently at a vial full of some sickly yellowish-green liquid that looked to Mae as if any minute it would eat through the container, then Jonathan's hand, then the desk. Like alien blood. He was so enraptured by whatever it was that he did not notice that Mae was standing barely two feet from him. Glaring at the back of his head, she gave a little cough to grab his attention.

Jonathan twitched slightly and Mae was half-afraid that he would spill some of the vile-looking substance he was holding onto his hand and burn it clean off. Thankfully he did not and merely set the container full of God-only-knew down before turning to Mae.

"Awake, I see," he said. Mae nodded and wondered if Jonathan had slept at all the previous night. By his unchanged clothes and bags under his eyes, probably not. Her eyes wandered to the flask that Jonathan had been so focused on and she pointed to it, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"What're you doing with that?"

An eerie smile split Jonathan's face in two as he turned his attention back to the unnerving liquid. "What have I _done_, child. What I've done is created the first experimental version of what will undoubtedly be my greatest formula to date!"

He held the vial aloft like Arthur would Excalibur, letting the light from the single bulb in the lair shine through it, giving the substance an unsettling glow. Mae stared at the flask with a new sense of awe and dread. If it were anything like the stuff that Jonathan had given her shortly before he had summoned her here, she would definitely try to avoid inhaling anything from it.

"What're you gonna do with it?" she asked.

Jonathan laughed. "Silly girl, I'm going to _use_ it, of course. True, I'll need to tweak it a bit to get my desired results—I believe that despite my earlier warnings to you I _did_ use too much atropine—and then I'll need to convert it to a gaseous form, but those will be but simple matters for one such as myself. Once that tedious business is done, I shall free the caged minds of Gotham. I shall give them the incomparable ecstasy and glory that is being enveloped in wondrous fear!"

He was breathing harshly, attention fixated on his opus. Mae shrugged her shoulders and tried not to let her discomfort show.

"That's cool," she muttered, glancing at the vial with a slight twinge of dread, but then supposed that was a good thing. Jonathan would tell her that it was her inner acknowledgement of the true power of the toxin and that she should embrace her wise fear of it. Jonathan knew everything. She stared at the flask more intently, trying to let her fear and awe of it consume her like he would tell her to. She did not have the chance to do this very long as the skeletal man finally stoppered the container and placed it at the back of his desk before turning back to her.

His ice-blue eyes bored into her, making her even more uncomfortable than the fear toxin had. She shivered slightly despite herself, which only widened his smile. In that deceptively soft voice that seemed to echo in her head, he said, "So. What wisdom shall I impart on you today? So many things to teach, for you to understand. It's been over ten years since I've properly taught a class; I hate to think that I've lost my aptitude for the structure of education. Do you have any ideas? Anything you're dying to learn?"

Mae thought for a second. She was still mildly disturbed from seeing that toxin and how entranced Jonathan had been with it. Although she knew that Jonathan would tell her that her fear was good and that she should see it as a wondrous thing, she wasn't ready. Not for anything like that. Not yet.

"Maybe I could design my outfit? You know, for when I'm out working with you? Something really cool and scary. It's gotta be good since I'm going to be a really awesome supervillain—"

Jonathan lightly tapped her on the nose, instantly silencing her. "Ah ah ah. Not 'villain.' Villains are people who perform evil acts. We do not do that. We are not thieves in the night taking things not ours or shadowy figures working to end the world or whatever else it is that those cretins do who consistently bring the Justice League down on their heads. We only take what is rightfully ours. We are those lucky few who hold the keys to true enlightenment in our hands and are generous enough to share them. We are gods walking the earth, seeking the worship of those around us because we _deserve_ it. We are seeking to _free_ the people of this earth through marvelous fear. We are trying to _save_ humanity from itself. To compare myself or my great work to someone like, say, Ra's al Ghul, who claims to want to save the world while working toward its ruin, is _insulting_."

Mae looked down at her shoes and felt her face heat. "Sorry…"

"No apologies. It is my duty as a teacher to correct my pupils and guide them towards a better understanding of what I am trying to impart. If you did not need correcting, you would not need me to teach you and you would already be off spreading the gospel of terror."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Perhaps some lessons in self-defense. You won't get far in this city if you cannot fend for yourself. Even the average worm walking the streets usually has learned to throw a punch simply from having to live here. Though physical violence is something I normally abhor, I cannot deny that it is often necessary in order to stave off those, such as the Bat, who would stop you in the Great Work."

"I can fight," she muttered. There were certain advantages to being one of the tallest people in her school, despite how relatively scrawny she was. She was even taller than most of the eighth-graders. Most of the time, anyone who wanted to pick a fight with her would be too intimidated by her height and back down almost immediately.

"Ah yes, schoolyard brawling. A detestable thing. Though I suppose you must have had to resort to it for survival when writing to me for advice would take too long. Your father was something of a brute, if I recall, so you might have inherited a bit of a thirst for physical violence from him," he continued, "I much prefer a more hands-off approach. Still, violence when properly applied is a wonderful tool for spreading fear without the need for the toxins. I have made great use of it several times when not using my formulas so if you _must_ resort to it, be certain to cause not only pain, but _fear_. You should try to spread fear in everything you do."

Jonathan walked over to a wall covered in scythes, pitchforks, sickles, guns, and other such implements. He ran a long, bony finger over a relatively small sickle before taking it off the wall and weighing it in his hands.

"There," he said, "I think this is of an appropriate size and weight for you. Do you have any idea how to use this?"

He handed the sickle to Mae, who held it at a distance as if it might come to life and bite her. He sighed. "No. No you do not."

Mae glared at him and grumbled, "S'not my fault I ain't seen one a these before," before giving a few tentative experimental swings. Jonathan watched her with the same critical eye he used to gaze over his students during his academic days, growing slightly annoyed.

"No, no, no, stupid girl," he said as strode up behind her before placing his hands over hers on the sickle. "You can't be overly cautious with your blows. You need to strike hard and mercilessly. Like _this._"

He took the sickle back from her and rushed over to one of his decoy scarecrows. With one fluid move, he raised the blade over his head and decapitated his stuffed counterpart, sending its head flying to the other side of the room. Mae stared at him, stunned. Though slightly pleased at having put a little awe into the child, Jonathan could not help but be irritated that the girl was more impressed with a display of physical force than she had been with his beautiful formula that could possibly be further developed to become his masterpiece. Still, she was young. Young people preferred explosions and crude humor to subtlety and wit. She simply needed to mature a little more and receive a few nudges in the right direction from him. Nothing that couldn't be fixed with a little effort.

He gave the sickle back to her and led her to the recently beheaded effigy. "Now I want you to strike as hard and as furious as you can. When you resort to physical violence to achieve your goals, you cannot hold back. Even a split second is enough time for your enemy to harm you first. You must cripple them before they can get to you and then run. Give them something to make them shudder every time they look at the scar you've left. Every day that they glimpse the place where you have marked them, let it give them glorious nightmares later that night."

The girl ran a finger over the dull edge of the blade, mimicking the motion that her brother had done when selecting the tool. She was possessed by a subconscious fear that if she did strike something, she would somehow get in trouble. Years of being instructed to curb her more violent instincts restrained her. Jonathan knew this, as he knew everything about the girl, and was _displeased_. Though he did not like using violence, it was because it was beneath him, not because he was afraid of the reactions of the lesser people. She was of his blood, she had been raised on his teachings. How could she hesitate now?

He placed his long, thin hands on her shoulders and leaned forward so that his mouth almost brushed her ear. "No hesitation, child. That scarecrow in front of you is everyone who has ever mocked you, everyone who has ever _hurt_ you, everyone who wishes to cause you pain. If you hesitate, they will continue to push you, to stomp you into the ground."

He felt a tremor run through her body. Rage? He could only hope. "Remember the bullies who drove you to write to me? Remember that man who seduced your mother to try to get to you Remember the boyfriend of Madison who stole your so-called friend away? Remember every other person like them? Of course you do. And you took all of them down. Do the same here. The only difference is that you are being direct. You are not hiding in the shadows with some poison; you will inflict your revenge directly and swiftly."

He released her shoulders and stepped back. "Now, let yourself go. _Attack._"

She paused for a moment, trembling even more. He sighed. Stupid child, even after all he said, she was still consumed with her petty fears instead of embracing her great ones? He began to walk back to her, to take his sickle back from her.

That was when she struck.

Almost faster than he could see, the girl sped over to the scarecrow with an ear splitting shriek and swung, cutting a jagged hole across its stomach. Almost five years of her own rage along with the rage Jonathan had planted within her was inflicted upon the hapless dummy as Mae continued to savagely tear at it with her borrowed weapon, rending cut after brutal cut until the thing was reduced to nothing but a few scraps of cloth and some straw strewn about the ground.

The girl stood limply in place as her nearly berserk state faded from her. Her breaths were harsh and her eyes were even wider than usual as the sickle fell from between lifeless fingers. She raised the hand that had dealt those blows too vicious to truly have been done by her and stared at it in disbelief.

Jonathan crept behind her, her attention solely focused on now both her hands as she wondered how they could have done what they had. Jonathan placed on of his own upon her head and softly whispered, "Good girl."

* * *

><p>AN: I shall return! Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but hopefully soon. If it's the last thing I do, I'll finish this thing.


	8. Chapter 8

Because what kind of Scarecrow fan would I be if I didn't update on Halloween at least once?

Really hoping this writing streak lasts. Crossing my fingers. If I have another 8 month hiatus I think I'll collapse of shame.

Considering a name change for this story. I never really liked "Scarecrow Kin" as the title but I've had a hard time thinking of something different. What do you guys think of "The Fall of the House of Keeny"? I think it would fit better. Still a bit silly, but I think it's way better than the title I'm using now.

Disclaimer: I owns nothing. DC owns it.

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><p>Chapter 8<p>

Questionable

The room was dark but for a lamp on a desk, venetian blinds shut to keep out the glare of the city. Sitting on a roller chair behind the desk was a slim man in green, casually running his hands over a vaguely box-sided object in his hands. It was a puzzle cube decorated on each of its sides with forty-nine variously colored squares. The man had figured it might prove more fun than the usual variety which only had nine squares to match up on each of its sides. It was, slightly. Ten minutes and he had only been able to complete five of the things, although his time was rapidly improving. Later on, if he became bored, he would only study a scrambled cube briefly before blindfolding himself and solving it from there.

True, speedcubing should have been below him at this point in his life and career, but he was feeling nostalgic and to the Riddler, or Edward Nygma as he now more respectably went by, Rubik's Cubes were on level with chicken soup and a grilled cheese sandwich in terms of bringing back pleasurable memories of childhood, of which he had so very few.

Work had been slow for the past few days, giving him the time to indulge in his childish games. He had nearly forgotten how enjoyable it was to just sit and enjoy some simple puzzles. His years of relentlessly planning the downfall of his worthy nemesis had left very little time for simply indulging in games that were only meant for harmless fun. He had almost forgotten what doing something simply for the fun of it rather than for any ulterior motive actually felt like.

He continued twisting and manipulating the cube in his hands, fingers flying as multicolored squares moved in a near-imperceptible blur. No doubt that this one would be completed in less than a minute-and-a-half. Just a little more…_a little more…_

A knock at his office door startled him, causing to drop the cube.

He glared at the door, wishing to whatever higher powers that would listen to grant him laser vision for just a second so that he could fry whatever idiot lay beyond the door. The knocks continued and Edward groaned, aggravated, before he reached for his iconic coat and hat so that he could be presentable to the potential client. There was never an excuse for not taking pride in one's appearance, he thought. Especially when one had such a brilliant reputation to maintain. No one would ever be able to say that they caught Edward Nygma less than pristine.

He glanced quickly at himself in the mirror, admiring how he looked sufficiently polished to be professional while simultaneously just disheveled enough to show experience, and marched toward the door, pushing aside his aggravation at having his puzzle time ruined to put on a charming demeanor to impress what would hopefully be his next paycheck.

His most amiable smile plastered on his face, he let the client in with a courteous, "Edward Nygma, Private Investigator. How may I be of service?"

The woman now in front of him in his office was of indeterminate age; she could have been anywhere from her mid-thirties to early fifties. Edward was struck with the notion that he knew her from somewhere, but could not quite place it. She was slim while also being rather top heavy (a fact that Edward did not dwell long upon at all, no), with curled hair dyed black that flowed to her shoulders and she was dressed rather inappropriately for the weather: short purple skirt, low-cut white spaghetti-strap shirt, only a thin jacket to really protect her from the elements. She was obviously not uncomfortable with her body, and, to be fair, she looked rather good for a woman who could have been old enough to be his teenage mother.

Her face, however, clearly showed that she was scared out of her mind. Her eyes were wide, darted about as if to spy hidden attackers, and she appeared to be on the verge of tears. Taking in a deep, sobbing breath, the woman said in an accent that he was pretty sure was southern, "I need you to help me find my daughter."

Oh. Oh, no. She had come to the wrong place. In as polite a tone as he could muster, Edward replied, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you'll need to go to the police for that. Here, I'll call 911 for you—"

"_No!_" the woman yelled, causing Edward to jump. "They'll hurt him!"

_Him?_

"Him? I thought it was your _daughter_ who was missing," Edward said, growing suspicious of this woman. If this was another one of Ivy's tricks…

"She is! I meant my son! He's the one who's got her, I know it! It can't be no one else! But it's not his fault! He's just confused, is all. He don't mean nothing by it, I'm sure. I mean, I don't really know him but I know he wouldn't never hurt a little girl, 'specially not Baby-Mae. It was Granny who made him like this, it's not his fault! They can't hurt him for somethin' that's not his fault!"

Oh, dear. The woman appeared to be describing a familial mess of Julio-Claudian proportions. He tried to keep his voice calm as he said to Karen, "Ma'am, I know you may love your son, but he's kidnapped his sister and he obviously has troubles he needs to sort out with you and the rest of the family. The police probably won't hurt him; they'll just give him a harmless tranq and then take him to somewhere where he can get better. Now just let me get the phone and—"

"_I said don't call the police!_"

The woman leapt at him, faster than he could move, and before he knew it there was a switchblade digging into his throat. He froze, unwilling to move in case it drove the blade into his neck or if it startled the woman, causing her to attack in earnest. The woman's blue eyes drove into him and it suddenly fell into place why she seemed familiar.

"You…you're Karen Keeny, aren't you? You're Scarecrow's mother."

She turned her head to the side, unwilling to look him in the eye, though her knife remained in place. Edward didn't let it faze him. He'd been threatened by more dangerous people in more horrifying ways. He'd likely be threatened by more in the future. It came with the territory. Still, it wouldn't pay to get too cocky and find himself with a severed artery.

"His name's Jonathan," she whispered before turning back to him, "You see now why I can't go to the police? They'll call in Batman and he'll beat my poor Jonny like he always does. I seen him do it right in front of me when I didn't know he was my baby. I even kissed the bastard! If I'd known that was my baby I'd a killed 'im right there for touching him. It's not his fault, you understand? It's not! Granny's who messed him up. He's not really evil! I'm sure he's just as good deep down as my Baby-Mae!"

It was hard for Edward to make out exactly what Karen was trying to say through her tears and periodic bouts of yelling. He tried to remember everything he knew about Scarecrow's origins and what he could use. He made it his business to know everything about everybody and now hopefully his obsessive profiling would pay off.

"Baby-Mae? That's your daughter, right? Heather-Mae?" One of those old-timey names with dashes in the middle that were given to children presumably as punishment for sins in a previous life. At least, that was the only reason Edward could think for why kids were saddled with such names.

Karen sniffled. "_Hester_-Mae."

That name was even worse, yikes. But, now was not the time to dwell on poor naming choices. Now was the time to put on the charm and get himself out of danger.

"That's a cute name," he lied, hoping that she would buy it.

Luckily for him, Karen nodded. "My great-grandmother's. My _other_ one. The nice one."

"Yeah. I bet your daughter's just as nice as she was. How old's she?"

Karen was beginning to look wary, but still replied, "Eleven. Twelve soon."

"Eleven. She's got her whole life ahead of her. Plenty of time to move on with her life, fix mistakes made, make something of herself…"

Karen pressed the knife harder against his throat. "What're you gettin' at?"

Edward took a deep breath. He would need to be very careful. "What I'm saying, ma'am, is that you don't really have a choice. I know Sca—_Jonny._ I've known him for years, far longer than you have."

"That's not my fault. She took him from me when I was too weak to fight back!"

She must have been talking about Mary Keeny. He would have to use what he knew of that old hell hag to his advantage. "I know, I know! Trust me, I know he would have turned out much better if he were raised by you. You'd have loved him and made sure he wouldn't have caused trouble."

Karen's shoulders were shaking as she whispered, "I'd a never let nothin' hurt my baby…"

Edward tried to look as reassuring as he could. "I know. But that's not what happened. Whatever Granny Keeny did to him, it's too late to be undone. You can't save him. You can only save your girl. Your Baby-Mae. You need to think about her, now. If you don't call in the police or the Bat to stop him, he's going to hurt your girl."

"She's his sister! He wouldn't hurt—!"

"The girl he pulled a gun on when she was only a helpless infant?"

"He didn't know what he was doing…"

Honestly. Edward knew a mother's love was blind, but this was getting ridiculous. He wanted to yell and scream at her, make her realize she was only defending a monster, but that would probably end with his receiving a new mouth carved into his throat. It took a truly herculean amount of effort to keep his voice calm and level.

"He did know. He knows everything he does. He's not your lost baby who needs Mama's care and affection to get better. The time for that has long passed. He's a criminal who has put a child in danger and he needs to be stopped. The cops and Batman can stop him and get your Baby-Mae out safe. This is your only real choice, Karen. I can't be sure that I can get your girl out without Scarecrow killing one or both of us. I _can_ be sure that the Bat can swoop in, get your girl, and get out with her safe. I can't guarantee your son's safety, but he's a career criminal. I will say this as many times as I have to. He's beyond saving. I'm sorry, but it's the truth."

Karen didn't move for the longest time. Edward began to grow more anxious as time far too slowly ticked on. Had he said something wrong? Was she going to attack him?

He was startled out of his thoughts by Karen dragging him up from the ground by his lapels, knife still pressed to his throat.

"He ain't beyond saving," Karen said with some slight hesitation in her voice, "And I'm not letting you call the police or Batman to beat my son. You're going to find him. You're going to help me get my girl back, and then me and my girl are going home and you can go off on your way. I'll even pay."

"How?" He highly doubted she was exactly rolling in the type of money he required for his services.

Karen cocked her head to the side and shrugged one shoulder. "I've got means."

Oh, dear. Edward was all too aware that, for a fifty year old woman, Karen did not look bad. At all. Not surprising considering that her mother back in the day had been quite an attractive socialite even into her mid-sixties. He tried to keep his eyes from wandering down to her quite ample chest. He was a _gentleman_, dammit. And this woman was clearly not exactly stable (must have been genetic). He was not going to accept this, no matter how good the woman looked, or how long it had been, or how satisfying it would be to have it over Crane that alongside kissing the Bat, his mother was willing to—

Stop it, Edward.

"Look, lady, I won't deny that you're attractive, and I won't deny that I feel sorry for your situation but—"

"_No_. I don't care what you say. Please, I'll raise money for the rest of my life if I have to. I'll work as a servant if you want. Just _please_," her eyes began to water and a few tears escaped from her eyes, "Don't have me stand by and watch as you call someone to brutalize my boy. I can't do it! I couldn't save him from Granny, but I can save him from this."

Her eyes met his and he could practically feel her plea. Once again, she begged.

"_Please._"

* * *

><p>The child had been disturbed by her own deep-seated desire to commit violence. Jonathan found it rather delightful. Fear of one's own self had always been so fascinating, especially since it was impossible for the frightened person to escape their object of fear.<p>

She was currently huddled in the same corner that she had slept in, her borrowed blanket wrapped tightly around her thin, trembling shoulders. He was sitting by her, idly stroking her hair, not making any real movement to soothe her fright. It had been far too long since he had been in such close proximity to a person as frightened as she currently was. He would have to help her eventually and convince her that her fear of her violent tendencies was merely her awe at witnessing her potential, which in his opinion it was, but for now he was content to bask in her marvelous terror.

"I didn't mean to do that," the girl said out of nowhere, looking pointedly at the mangled scarecrow. Pieces of straw and bits of cloth had been strewn all over the hideout from her vicious mauling of the thing. Even Jonathan had been surprised at the sheer amount of force she was able to channel through the sickle to commit the act.

He ruffled her hair. "Of course you did, dear girl. Don't let all of those insipid messages that have been forced down your throat since infanthood fool you. Yes, it is wrong for regular humans to engage in such violence, distasteful really, but we are no them. We are gods. The rules of man apply not to us. We are beyond them. When we go by what our instincts tell us, it is the will of the universe, not the acting out of base desires."

She kept her head down. "I still feel like I did something wrong. You're not supposed to want to hurt people like that."

Jonathan sighed heavily. The girl would take much longer than he thought. Still so brainwashed by everything else told to her by other people. People who weren't _him_. They had no right to interfere with what was his. He owned her. He owned her mind. It was his to shape as he chose not theirs.

"Child, I've read your letters. You've already hurt many people. Maybe not with your own bare hands, but you've done it all the same. And yes, you _are _supposed to want to. They _defied_ you. They did not give you the respect you deserve as my disciple. They need to be put in their place. While I agree that physical violence is distasteful, you should not shy away from it if it is necessary. And it _will_ be necessary.

Besides," he continued, down at her, "I daresay you even enjoyed it on some level."

She flinched and tried desperately no to look at anything. "I shouldn't."

"Shouldn't? Says who? I did not say so."

He took her face gently in his hand and forced her to look at him. She was reluctant to move her eyes to face him at first, but eventually brought herself to meet his gaze.

"Listen, child. You only listen to me. I have helped you when no one else would. Why should you listen to anyone else? Their words have never helped you. All they have ever done is hold you back. They have only kept you from your true potential and destiny," he said, leaning in closer to take up her entire vision, as he should always. "You are to help me spread terror. I have said this over and over again and yet you hesitate all too often. You need to learn to let go of anything you have learned that was not imparted by me. _I _am your only teacher. Only_ I_ know what is best for you."

She tore her face away from his hand and looked back down to the ground. "I don't know how."

"It's easy, girl. Only listen to me. Obey me without question. When has that ever failed you?"

"I don't know…"

"Never. Every bit of advice I've given you has always helped you, hasn't it?"

"Yes…"

"Then never question me again. Go forth without guilt."

She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly. "I dunno if that's the right thing to do."

"Did I say it was right?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then that should be your answer, shouldn't it?"

Mae nodded quietly and Jonathan, seemingly passified by that response, left her to continue to work on his fear toxin. Mae watched him cautiously, and for the first time in nearly five years truly questioned whether or not meeting him was a good idea.

She harshly shook her head to rid herself of that notion.

_Don't be silly, _she thought, _He's just trying to help you. He would never make you do anything wrong. It's all for the best._

_Isn't it?_

* * *

><p>AN:

Don't touch Karen's babies. She may not have much sense, but she loves them both anyway. After reading all the evil Karens out there on this site, I figure there needs to be at least one who genuinely loves Jonny. I was heavily motivated to write her sympathetically after watching Melina Pendulum's YouTube video on mothers and their treatment in the media. I highly recommend checking her out.

The variety of Rubik's Cube that Eddie s fiddling around with at the beginning actually exists. It's called the V-Cube 7, aka the fuck-me-sideways. I can't even solve a normal 3x3x3 cube, but some Hungarian genius solved one of those abominations in less than three minutes! Still, if anyone would play with one of those monstrosities for funsies, it would have to be the Riddler. I wouldn't touch one. It would make my tiny brain explode.

It's also my headcanon that Eddie has a thing for women who screw him over, or could screw him over. Julie in the 2003 cartoon where he's voiced by Robert Englund, Catwoman (he put on her costume, for goodness's sake), there's been some teasing with him and Poison Ivy and Harley, there's his henchgirls who were both biker chicks or worked at a fetish club (or one was a biker and the other the domme) who could kick his ass in a heartbeat…so of course he's tempted by a woman who holds a knife to his throat and who gives him teasing leverage over Scarecrow (nyah nyah I made out with your mom lolz). Yes.

I like that headcanon, anyway…


	9. Chapter 9

Hello. I am alive. Barely. After almost a year. At least I updated on Halloween. Yay me.

All characters, settings, etc belong to DC Comics which belongs to Warner Bros. I'm pretty sure. At any rate, it doesn't belong to me, or else the Scarecrow Year One storyline would still be canon (*sniff* whyyyyyyy).

* * *

><p>Chapter 9<p>

An Excursion; 

Selecting a Target

The child's faith was beginning to falter. Jonathan could tell. It had been so long since he'd been around someone who did not guard themselves around him. Her tone of voice, the way she carried herself, her increasing reluctance, the look in her eyes that practically screamed that she was having second thoughts, her entire bearing revealed her mind to him. Nothing that he did not expect. True, she _should_ simply accept all that he told her without question, but it was only natural that she would begin to exhibit resistance to the recent changes in her life. Most significant changes, no matter how beneficial and necessary, were usually met with some opposition. He would have to tread lightly if he wished bring the girl back completely under his wing.

Though, knowing one's goals and knowing how to _implement_ said goals were two entirely different things. If he could, he would accompany her on a "fear project" similar to the ones he had assigned to her while they were still only in contact through letters. It would remind her of the satisfaction and power she had felt while instilling fear into the lesser mortals and allow her to leave the hideout, which no doubt she was beginning to feel confined in.

But therein lay the snag.

No doubt his mother had already alerted the police and the Batman, frantically begging them to track him down and beat him to a bloody pulp whilst they dragged _his_ child away from him and back into the crushing pit of ignorance that the rest of the insects known as the human race were more than content to wallow in. Despite Karen's insistence that she still loved him, he knew, oh he _knew_, that she would turn on him as soon as she believed that her favored offspring was in danger. She probably lit up the Bat-signal herself, excited at the prospect of her _bastard_ being mercilessly tortured. Oh yes, by now the Bat and his brood were no doubt scouring the city for any sign of him, eager to once more thrash him senseless and end his attempts to bring the citizens of Gotham enlightenment.

What Jonathan needed was a cover; a way to allow both himself and his little acolyte to spread his phobic gospel to the oblivious people without arousing the Bats' suspicion. Disguising his child should be accomplished easily enough. The search would be on for a little girl and, despite the fact that her height would be reported, she was still taller than many grown men and people tended to rely more on preconceived notions than facts. He himself had been able to avoid suspicion as the Scarecrow during the first few months in his career due to the fact that he _looked_ like the harmless, skin-and-bones bookish type. And considering that she was a little over 5'9" (that would be, what, 175.5 cm in metric?) and had all of the curves of a pencil, she could easily pass for a man. Or at the very least a teenage boy.

Yes. Yes, this could work. While the hunt was on for the terrifying villain Scarecrow and the tiny, helpless girl he'd so cruelly stolen away, no one would look twice at two gawky, unassuming men (or one gawky, unassuming man and his equally gangly and meek teenage son/brother/what have you). Yes, this could work quite well.

He lent her some of his clothes to hide her identity; a blue and white plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up so as not to completely swallow her thin arms; a pair of jeans with the cuffs similarly rolled up to the ankles and belted to better fit her frame that, impossibly, was even more slight than his own; a large brown coat with the hood turned up to cover her face completed the ensemble, leaving her unrecognizable. At least from a good distance. So long as she kept her face hidden, she would easily be taken for a grown man. Just another anonymous figure wandering aimlessly through the streets, head hung low after a lifetime of being beaten down, like everyone else, by the meat grinder that was Gotham.

His girl was confused, of course, but followed him nevertheless. The only sign of her uncertainty that she consciously allowed herself to show was to ask where they were going, to which he replied, "Calm yourself, child. Just stay alongside me. Where we're going is of little importance."

And it wasn't important. Who they decided to administer fear to did not matter. They were all the same, those unenlightened souls ignorant to what their fears could unlock in their minds. Only he was truly alive and, soon, his child would be as well. One in mind as well as in blood, united in their sacred mission to bring forth the inner terrors of the mind, so that no person could escape from themselves, for who were people other than the sum of their fears?

Wait. Stop. He couldn't allow himself to count his chickens before they'd even hatched. He had to take things slowly, lest his girl be driven away. He had to keep her to what she was comfortable with and take her step by step. You couldn't teach a child calculus just after they'd only gotten the hang of basic arithmetic. He couldn't rightfully expect for her to truly grasp his philosophy simply because she had learned merely to instill a little fear. He had to keep her where she was comfortable, to what she had mastered. At least for now…

He looked down at her as she pressed herself against his arm, clinging tightly as they made their way through the streets (when had that happened; had he really been so lost inside his own thoughts that he had failed to notice leaving his hideout?). Her hood almost completely obscured her face, keeping it hidden from recognizing eyes as well as from the light rain that had begun to fall. He could feel the beating of her heart, rapid despite her attempts to keep her breaths even and to not cling too tightly. _So frightened._ He brought her closer to his chest so that he could feel the amplified pulse and the harsh breaths that were the pages and accompaniments of his beloved terror. Calm, calm. He would only take his fun from this and be contented. He would not allow himself to be lost in his mind again. Not now.

He kept his head down, not looking anyone in the eye. So long as he did not rush and did not act out of place, no one would look twice at him, even if he did possess the same physical type one of the most feared Arkham inmates currently loose. Gotham's seemingly willing obliviousness and apathy had always served him well. So long as he was not attacking them at the moment, they were more than content to let him slip past their noses with his terrified cargo in tow.

Speaking of which, he couldn't let himself forget why he was out and about in such a risky atmosphere. This was all supposed to be a teaching experience. As a teacher, he should know better than to let himself be distracted while a student was learning.

Somewhere considered "safe" would be best, where the inhabitants had deluded themselves into thinking that they were immune from the rampant crime and supervillain attacks. Somewhere with individual houses instead of apartment buildings so that there would be fewer potential witnesses. Hallharrow, maybe. Picturesque little houses populated by the slightly better off, no major attacks in the last five months, likely lulled into a false sense of security. Forty-five minute walk at the pace they were going.

The city slunk by, abandoned warehouses giving way to grey buildings that gradually shrank before finally being replaced with cement structures which in turn gave way to brick ones which, eventually, became the idyllic homes of Hallharrow. His girl remained quiet for the duration of their journey, continuing to cling to his arm like a lifeline. How strange, he thought again, that someone, even his younger sister, would turn to him for protection against the things that lurked within the dark. Usually, he _was_ that which lurked within the dark.

Hallharrow was a quiet neighborhood, a rarity in Gotham even if it did sit at the very edge. Charming houses with short fences that surrounded little yards, Hallharrow had no business being a part of Gotham at all. Metropolis, perhaps, but certainly not Gotham. Its residents were currently sleeping peacefully within, unaware of the trespassers that had invaded their quiet would-be sanctuary.

Jonathan paused, causing his child to pause with him. He closed his eyes and deeply inhaled, readying himself. He let his breath go, and Scarecrow opened his eyes.

"Pick one, little Mae," he said as he removed his arm from the vise of her grip and gestured in the direction of the unsuspecting houses that lay about, to Scarecrow, like so many weeds waiting to be ripped out from their very roots.

"Pick one," he repeated once more, "Any one will do. All people are more or less the same; all filled with hidden fears and inner demons that simmer just below the surface, waiting for us to unleash them."

She looked up at him, that damned uncertainty still stamped firmly onto her face, before turning her gaze to the hapless dwellings that lay before her. Scarecrow heard her take in a shuddering breath and watched her head swivel about, looking for a mark, any mark.

Her head stopped looking around, eyes focusing on one house. Scarecrow grinned.

"Do you see one you like?" he asked, his hands resting on her shoulders.

She pointed at a house in the distance. Pale yellow walls, red roof, shutters, and doors. Obscenely quaint. Perfect.

"Good girl." He tapped her shoulders affectionately. "Now let's invite ourselves in."

* * *

><p>AN: Constantly referring to Mae as "yours" now, Jonny? You redefine creep. The Creeper's not as creepy as you. And you're just so proud of that.

*sigh* Sorry this is taking so long. I know where this story is going and how it will end (and possibly continue…), but getting there while not rushing and keeping a good pace is hell. To whoever said knowing where your story is going makes everything easier, you sir or madam are a liar. I'm just trying desperately to avoid underpants gnome syndrome (Step One: Neat Idea, Step Two: Build On Neat Idea, Step Three: ?, Step Four: SATISFYING CONCLUSION! Curse you, Step Three…)


End file.
